


Between Here and Now and Forever

by Kaesa



Series: Founders of Hogwarts [6]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Atheism, Backstory, Christianity, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Humor, Magic, Medieval, Mythology - Freeform, POV Alternating, POV Minor Character, POV Original Character, POV Third Person, Paganism, Political, Pre-Canon, Religion, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 165,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesa/pseuds/Kaesa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Godric wanted was a quiet life of scholarship, ideally one that didn't involve starving to death.  So when two old friends (well, acquaintances, really) showed up and offered him a teaching job, he took it with few reservations, not realizing how extensively he was involving himself in international magical politics.  Is gen-focused, but will probably contain romantic subplots of several kinds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has gone through many, many ridiculous revisions, probably not all of which were necessary. But they made me feel better. After Deathly Hallows, I revised it one more time, and resolve to continue on without making any major changes. Many thanks to my current beta, thinkatory, who puts up with my whining and pokes holes in my theories.

"Are you _quite_ certain this is the right way?" asked Helga, looking at her husband nervously. The forest was very thick around here, the road was muddy, and the village was -- well, non-existent. Rowena resolved to bring her broom next time.

Basil Hufflepuff squinted at his map, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth. "Nearly," he said, though he wasn't very convincing.

"_Nearly_ quite certain?" asked Helga.

"Nearly quite certain," agreed Basil.

"I say we should go back to that little hermitage and ask for directions," said Helga.

"What?" asked Basil. "When we could be enjoying the wilderness?" He raised his arms to indicate the dark green foliage surrounding them.

"In case you haven't noticed, we are not just in the _middle_ of nowhere," said Rowena. "We are in the _epicenter_ of nowhere. This place practically _radiates_ nothingness. Let me see the map." Rowena had been Helga's best friend since they were both six, and even then she had always been certain that _she_ knew the best way to do anything.

"I _can_ read, milady," said Basil.

"I know," snapped Rowena. Her dark eyebrows came together. "And don't call me 'milady.'"

Basil shot Helga a mischievous glance. "Yes, milady," he said, performing a peculiar half-bow.

Rowena groaned. "Helga," she sighed, "_please_ tell him to stop calling me 'milady.' It's aggravating enough when Helena does it." Helena was Rowena's daughter. She had been left at Rowena's castle while the three adults searched for a suitable Transfiguration professor.

"Basil," scolded Helga, "you know perfectly well that you should address Rowena as 'Your Highness' at all ti--"

"Not you too!" said Rowena. Finding herself without allies, Rowena simply grabbed the map from Basil's hand and read it herself. She squinted, as she was rather nearsighted, and finally decided that Basil had been right. "Well, come on," she said, motioning for Helga and Basil to follow her.

Helga and Rowena were hoping to start some sort of school for magic, with Basil's rather hesitant participation. Helga's idea had been to teach children the basics of the most important sorts of magic. Helga's mother had tutored Rowena when she was small, as well as several other fortunate children, but it was hardly uncommon for the child of two gifted magicians to get no tutoring at all in the area they were most talented in, simply because there were no Transfigurators or magical theoreticians for miles, or Herbology was looked upon as suitable only for the very lowest classes, or their parents were just too poor to afford proper dueling lessons. This, they had decided, was a problem that needed solving.

Helga had no qualms about teaching something suitable only for the very lowest classes -- she had made quite a lot of money, designing botanical security systems for paranoid nobles, and she was extremely good at what she did. Rowena, meanwhile, had never actually had to work for herself, but her skill had always been in magical theory -- charms were what she found most interesting. And though Helga would never have told him so, it was for her husband's sake that they had really decided to go through with the idea, because Basil had been a top duelist until he'd been bitten on a werewolf hunt and barred from competition.

They would find their Potions professor later; experts in potions were not particularly difficult to come by, in fact, and it was more a matter of finding one whose knowledge was fairly well rounded, rather than one who specialized in poisons or healing potions or cooking.

So today the three had set off in search of a Transfigurator to employ. Transfigurators were rather rare beasts, as it took a great deal of training and knowledge to do anything of practical use. Their first object had been Thaddeus Fudge, possibly the most well known Transfigurator in all of Britain. However, on the long journey, Rowena had had a lot of time to think about the great man.

For one thing, she'd seen him. Only once, very briefly, and across a long feast table, it was true. But she had caught a glimpse of his aura through her aura-lens. It was very weak, she'd noticed, and greyish. Someone as powerful as Fudge would have to have had a bright aura, indicating a strong gift in magic.

Nevertheless, _someone_ was transfiguring all those things. She reasoned that it whoever it was had to be rather weak-willed, considering how they had let the opportunity to become rich slip past them -- but that made no sense, because skill in transfigurations tended to mean stubbornness and inflexibility. The person was definitely a more powerful wizard or witch than Fudge had ever been, so perhaps they were famous in their own right? Unfortunately, the village he lived in was a singularly unremarkable place that had produced no one of any importance besides Fudge. Rowena had even wondered if the true Transfigurator was a charitable noble who'd taken pity on Fudge, but the only nearby nobles were very thoroughly Muggle, as was most of the surrounding area.

And then Rowena had looked at the _name_ of the village. Gryffindor's Hollow. And she had remembered someone who fit the description perfectly -- a weak-willed but occasionally rather stubborn wizard with such strong talent that Helga's mother had agreed to tutor him, if only for a few years. He'd been born to Muggles and had lived in a village called Gryffindor, and his name had been Godric. As with many villages, a small magical counterpart, Gryffindor's Hollow, had sprung up to the side, hidden from Muggles with enchantments and lots of nice solid trees and hills and things. A Confounder was usually stationed in the Muggle area, instructed to offer minor aid to the Muggles, to watch their children for signs of magic, and to keep everybody complacent.

Of course, the last time she'd seen Godric he'd been rather young to charge money for his magic, and she hadn't really given him much thought over the years -- there'd been that disturbance with the goblins, and she'd been married for several years and had Helena, and they certainly had never been _friends._ Far from it. But he'd been good at transfigurations and surprisingly clever at Latin, and easy to bully, so she'd been rather fond of him in a way.

After that, there was the problem of finding a place for the school. The castle Rowena and her daughter were living in now didn't actually _belong_ to Rowena at all. It had at one point belonged to Rowena's husband Lord Ravenclaw, but he had mysteriously taken ill several years previously and died. His will dictated that, until such time as either Rowena or her daughter were married, most of his money and property would go toward the care and feeding of his hunting dogs, with only a small portion to support the two women. The rest went towards a monastery. Rowena reflected rather bitterly that he would have felt differently if Helena'd been a boy, but those had been the terms of the will, and at least they were permitted to _live_ in the castle, if not to set up a school of magic within it.

But now was not the time to worry about inheritances. By this time they had reached the tiny cluster of houses that dared call itself a village. Evidently, Rowena's earlier statement had been quite wrong -- _this_ was the epicenter of nowhere. Except for an inn with a picture of a green crow hanging over the entrance, and a rather large house that bore the man-changing-into-a-toad sign of a Transfigurator, there was really nothing of interest.

"All right," said Rowena, "Fudge has to know where he is, let's go break his door down and threaten him."

"Why don't we just go to the inn?" Helga said. "Everyone in the village is probably there regularly, so they'd know where Godric is and when he'll be stopping by."

"...are you certain that this Godric fellow is about to just drop everything and come along with us?" Basil asked, uncertainly. "Perhaps he's quite happy here. Perhaps he's a vampire or something," he continued, "that'd explain why he'd bother with Fudge at all. If I had a twin who'd pretend to be me during the full moon..."

"Don't be silly," said Helga, "Godric wouldn't get bitten by a vampire, he was always very good at running quickly in the other direction." _Unlike Basil,_ Rowena thought, but she knew not to bring _that_ up.

"Yes, he'd probably be terrified at the very idea," said Rowena. "...Helga, did the Runt even _know_ about vampires? He _was_ Muggleborn." Godric had always been rather short, and so he'd been subjected to a whole host of amusing and clever nicknames. Well, clever if you happened to be twelve.

"You know, I don't know," said Helga, frowning, "but the Muggles have all sorts of stories about magic, and they _do_ tend to focus on the worst of it, so it's possible."

"Yes, but we're going to need a backup Transfigurator, is all," said Basil, who didn't seem to have realized who was in charge just yet. "We should have a backup Transfigurator."

"I don't see _why,_" said Rowena. "If he really is happy here, we can just make him unhappy," she said sensibly. "Until he comes with us." It had always worked in the past.

"Yes, but what if he _doesn't?_"

"Basil, do shut up, dear, you're just holding us up," said Helga, not unkindly. "I've no doubt we can make him very unhappy if we need to. Come on, let's find Runty." She led the three into the inn.

The noise was the first thing Rowena noticed on entering the inn. Apparently the entire male population of the village was in here, discussing various terribly important -- and loud -- subjects. Then the sour smell of bad ale assaulted her nose. A fight had broken out in the back of the room, and a man who looked about twice as tall as anyone else was attempting to break it up, pleading, "Would you both _please_ sit down and shut up! This is the third time I've had to keep you from breaking his nose!" It looked like a truly dismal place.

"Excuse me," began Basil, speaking to the innkeeper, who was apparently slightly deaf. Small wonder why, Rowena thought. "Er, excuse me?" he tried again, louder.

"Who're you?" asked the innkeeper.

Basil tried to dodge the issue of his name, as anybody who followed dueling would know what he was. "We've just come here fr--" But the innkeeper didn't wait for an answer. He tossed a silver sickle at Basil, who promptly recoiled.

"Well go on, then," sneered the innkeeper. "Pick it up!"

Basil continued to avoid it. "Helga, would you please --"

"You're a vampire," growled the innkeeper. Helga winced.

"Now look here!" snarled Basil. "I'm a _werewolf,_ not a _vampire_ \-- yes, there's a rather significant difference between the two, thanks very much -- and it's not as if either would want to bite _you,_ because you look like you're already rotting. If you want your bloody Sickle you can pick it up yourself."

"Do something!" Helga whispered to Rowena.

"_You_ do something!" Rowena hissed back. "You married him!"

"Excuse me?" It was the huge man who'd broken up the fight in the back of the inn. He was staring down at Basil and the innkeeper. "Is there a problem?" Rowena couldn't see his face, but he sounded rather annoyed. It seemed to be his job to break up fights.

Helga poked Rowena in the ribs. "Rowena! Use your Infinitely Superior Noblewoman Voice!" she hissed.

"I was just getting to that," said Rowena. She cleared her throat, brought out her wand, and said, in the most commanding tone she could muster, "Excuse me! Do you know who you are dealing with?" _All right, so far so good._ "I am Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, daughter of Lady Ophelia Aeaeae, and I should _hope_ you'd know _that_ name. He's in our group. Leave him alone."

The man turned to face her before she could start shouting at the innkeeper, and Rowena saw his face. It was familiar, but it took her a few moments to work out why. Rowena thought it needed to be muddy to have the right effect. "Rowena?" he asked. He blinked. "And Helga?"

"Godric!" Rowena exclaimed. "There you are! We were looking for you! ...what _happened_ to you?" Not only was he much taller than everyone else, but he looked so worn out, as though he hadn't slept for _days._ This was not the Godric she'd expected. He just looked so tired and defeated -- not to mention half-starved -- that no _wonder_ he'd rely on a nothing like Fudge.

"It's a long story," he said, wincing. "I thought you'd married a Muggle, not a werewolf," he said, blinking.

"Oh, Basil is Helga's," said Rowena, "mine's dead."

"...Oh. Er. I'm sorry," he said.

She shrugged. "Don't be. He was only a Muggle."

"But what are you doing _here?_" he asked. "Sorry about that," he told Basil, "Andrew _always_ gets werewolves and vampires mixed up." Basil was still gaping at Godric with a deer-in-the-wandlight sort of look, and seemed not to have heard him.

"Not like there's much difference," Andrew muttered to himself.

"It's not the full moon, and anyway, vampires never pay when they leave, or eat or drink _anything_ except the fellow guests," said Godric. "Werewolves are a much sounder investment, on the whole." He bent down and picked up the silver sickle, and dropped it onto the counter. Basil was still staring at him, halfway between shock, relief, and horror. "Is something wrong?" asked Godric, this time sounding concerned and rather worried. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Basil's expression broke as he was startled back into the real world. "Er -- what? I -- no --"

"This is my husband Basil," said Helga quickly. "He means well, really, he's just a bit -- _Basil,_ stop gawping!"

Godric rolled his eyes. "It's all right, I'm used to it."

Rowena said, "Look, can we talk? And not in here, it's too noisy."

He nodded silently. Rowena studied his face for clues as to why he was in... well, whatever situation he was in. All she could tell was that he looked quite unhappy and terribly tired. He turned and led them up a flight of stairs to a doorway that she thought must be his room.

* * *

Godric usually brushed off gawpers and curious patrons with a glower, but he really wanted to know what could possibly bring Helga and Rowena to this horrible little village. _If they'd wanted something transfigured by old Fudge, they'd be better off owling it to him. Or, for that matter, owling it to me. But they seemed to be looking for_ me. _I can't imagine what they'd want with me._

After stomping up a flight of stairs, Godric turned to face his room's door. He put his hand in his pocket for the key, already knowing he'd left it in the room. "That's the second time this week," he muttered, and motioned for Rowena, Helga, and -- Basil, was it? -- to step back. Sighing, he pushed the door down, then looked tiredly back at the three. They were all staring openmouthed. He sighed. "Locked myself out," he explained. "Happens all the time," he added, trying to shrug it off. It was his routine remedy for others' astonishment.

Rowena recovered first. "Don't you have a wand?" she asked.

"Too expensive," he said.

She looked a bit disappointed. "Why don't any of your sentences have subjects?" she asked, changing the topic.

"What?" asked Godric, blinking.

"You said, and I quote, 'Locked myself out,' 'Happens all the time,' and 'Too expensive.' You should've said, '_I_ locked myself out,' '_This_ happens all the time,' and '_Wands are_ too expensive.' The last one was missing a verb as well," she added.

"Right," said Godric, deciding then and there to leave out as many words from his sentences as possible. It would irritate her, he knew, especially after she'd corrected him. Irritating Rowena was always fun, and he hadn't had the chance to do it for at least ten years. He smirked to himself as he put the door back in the frame and fixed it with his limited wandless magical ability.

Godric didn't have any furniture, as he spent all his money on necessities -- food and books, mainly -- but even so, the room was very small, especially with him in it. Helga, in trying to make room, stumbled into a tall stack of books on the floor. "I'll get them," she said, starting to stack them again.

Rowena, ever the assistant of Murphy's Law, spotted one particular book and picked it up. "Now this one I _don't_ recognize as a standard transfigurator's manual," she said. Grinning, she added, "I was right, though. Fudge isn't really Fudge!"

"...what?" asked Godric.

"Thaddeus Fudge," said Rowena. "You're transfiguring things for him, aren't you?"

"Er... no," he said. _Two syllables,_ he thought. _Does 'er' really count?_

"If that's true," said Rowena, "then why do you have a copy of the _Voluma Animaguum?_ And it's more expensive than a wand, too. Or at least, mine was. Did you steal it? No, you wouldn't be able to. You'd have trouble sneaking away, I bet," she said looking up at him.

"I --" started Godric. This would be tough to explain in monosyllables. "All right," he said, "I give up. I have been transfiguring things for Fudge, but it's not anything _illegal._ Right?" he added, as he wasn't quite sure himself.

"I knew it!" shrieked Rowena. She looked quite happily mad. "Oh, yes, I knew it! I knew you wouldn't fail us, Runt!" she said.

"...I think I've missed something important here," said Godric, still a bit worried, and quite concerned about his book.

"Godric," she said, "how would you like a job?" And at this sentence, a tiny bit of the fear turned into hope.

"You mean it?" he said. "A _real_ job? I -- I mean -- it's not anything stupid, is it?"

"Yes, Godric, we've tracked you down through Fudge's Transfiguration to ask you to collect some rubbish for us," said Helga, rolling her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. We're starting a school. I'm doing Herbology and Rowena wants to teach charms and reading and languages, and Basil's tackling dueling and defensive magic. And we want you to teach transfiguration. If you're _really_ Fudge, you're the best there is _anywhere._"

"Oh." It was a very small 'oh.' He blinked. "...but I can't _teach,_" he said.

"Oh come _on,_" said Helga. "Have you ever tried?"

"No," said Godric, "but I'll scare all the children away," he said. "I mean, _look_ at me." No one would take him for anything but some sort of dimwitted troll-creature like _this,_ after all.

"No, you will not," said Rowena sternly. "However," she said, "you _will_ turn that _Voluma Animaguum_ over to me."

Godric was startled out of his cringing. "_What?_" he said in horror. "No!" he said. Rowena, however, had taken the book. "That -- that's _mine!_" he said. "I bought it _myself._ Give it back!"

"No," she said. "This is a very dangerous --"

"And how would _you_ know?" said Godric. It was a dangerous thing to attempt becoming an Animagus, but he didn't have much to lose. "You said yourself you were going to teach Charms. You came to _me_ for Transfiguration."

She was insulted. "I never said I didn't _know_ anything about Transfiguration," said Rowena.

"You're trying to work it out too, aren't you?" It wasn't fair; he'd worked for ages to be able to go to all the way to Dunn's Torre and see the supposed copy that was there, and when it'd turned out to be _real_ and not a hoax, he was so pleased he could barely bring himself to go back home and work for the money to buy it. And _she'd_ probably just wandered over to the bookseller's and asked for it, and had it imported from God-knew-where, and not thought twice! _And_ she was smarter than him, too, so of _course_ she'd get it worked out before he could.

"And what if I am?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong with that? Are you afraid I'm going to steal your little victory, Runt? Oh, of course you are -- as if _you'd_ be able to work it out before _I_ did." She snorted.

"You give that back," said Godric, "it's _mine._"

"I'd really rather not," said Rowena. "I wouldn't want our Transfiguration professor to inadvertently turn himself into a baboon. Unless you'd rather not have the job? Well, I should probably take the book anyway. For your own safety, you know." She turned to leave.

"Stop," said Godric from behind her. She didn't stop. He was expecting that, actually, and he picked her up and turned her around so she was facing him.

"I thought you couldn't teach," she said, glowering at him and clinging to the book.

"I can't," he said. "But if you give me the book, I'll do it." He couldn't lose the progress he'd made. "Anyway, who _else_ are you going to be able to bully into a job?"

"I _told_ you we should have had a backup," Basil said.

"Fine," she said. "I'll give you your book back. But you're just going to be terribly disappointed when I manage to become an Animagus before you."

"I don't think I'll be too disappointed. Especially since I'm going to win." This was a complete lie, but it made him feel better.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say." She held out the book and rolling her eyes. "Now put me _down!_"

He took the book and put her down. "I'm sorry about that," he told Helga and Basil as Rowena recovered from her brief humiliation. "I should be more careful about where I leave things." He glanced pointedly at Rowena, who ignored him.

"We're leaving tomorrow at dawn," said Helga, still uncertain of what was going on.

"And if you aren't there," said Rowena, "we'll leave without you."

"Fine." He shooed them out. "Good_night,_" he said. "It's been good to see you again, Helga, and I'm glad to meet -- Basil?"

Basil nodded. Helga smiled, just as uncertainly. If looks could kill, however, Rowena would've been a murderess. Godric ignored this and put aside his anger for a few seconds. After he had repaired the door, he looked out the window at the cloudy skies above.__

_My God,_ he thought, _I'm not going to starve to death! I have a job!_ He felt like dancing around the room, laughing. _A real job!_ he thought in elation. He grabbed a quill, dipped it in black ink, and wrote on the inside cover of the book, _This book belongs to Godric of Gryffindor, and if any book-stealing fiend should forget that, they'd do well to remember it quickly._ He stabbed the page savagely to make a 'full stop' mark and underlined the word 'fiend' for effect.  
Then, after making sure his new employers were safely out of earshot, he ran downstairs to tell old Andrew the innkeeper that he was quitting, jumping down the stairs about five at a time and whooping, "I'm leaving!"

He had no idea what he was in for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, "Between Here and Now and Forever," comes from the Carrie Newcomer song "Bare to the Bone." The full lyrics can be found here:  
> http://www.metrolyrics.com/bare-to-the-bone-lyrics-carrie-newcomer.html
> 
> "Voluma Animaguum": I know very little Latin. However, research suggests that this means "Scrolls of the Animagi" in Latin.
> 
> "...all the way to Dunn's Torre..." This refers to the town of Dunster. Please feel free to correct my awful geography if you know more than me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowena takes Godric to buy a wand, and they rejoin the Hufflepuffs to meet Lord Salazar Slytherin, the man whose castle they're going to use for the school.

Rowena turned around and looked down the busy cobbled street, sighing. "GODRIC, COME _ON!_" she shouted, and rolled her eyes as he trudged sheepishly over. "You'd think you'd never been to London before," she said, shaking her head.

"Well, I haven't," he said, staring around. "There are an awful lot of people..."

"What, this? This is _nothing,_" said Rowena, snorting. "It's too early for most people who don't absolutely have to be here."

"Why?" Godric blinked.

"Well, most people have to fly in, you know," she said. "Or walk, even." She shuddered. Rowena liked flying, and so she usually volunteered to fly ahead and summon the Transport Key, but to have to walk _everywhere_ must be awful. It had been bad enough traipsing through the forest and going in circles for hours. The problem, she thought, was that maps made far more sense from above than they did from the ground. Well, minus the sea serpents drawn in the corners, she supposed, but Rowena'd never been on a boat.

"Walking's not bad," said Godric, still gawking and not really looking where he was going. It was all right -- he was big enough that everybody automatically avoided him. She supposed he was used to it by now.

"Well, _I_ don't like it," said Rowena. "It's slow, and muddy, and -- Godric, _don't_ wander off, otherwise we'll never find you again," she said, although this was perhaps not exactly true. "Come on, you need a wand," she said, "it's just in here." She watched as he grimaced at the prospect of fitting himself through the tiny door of the shop, and, ignoring his plight, pushed it open. "Ollivander!" she shouted, and immediately regretted it -- the heavy silence put her in mind of a library, and not just any dismal ten-book monastery library, but some great and important ancient library with marble columns all down the front and thick walls to keep the temperature constant. "...Master Ollivander?" she asked, in a somewhat more respectful tone of voice.

There was an imposing silence.

"Excuse me? Hello?" She felt like a four-year-old sneaking around in her mum's room. "Godric, _come on!_" she hissed, feeling that if she did end up getting caught, she'd rather get caught along with a twelve-foot-plus acquaintance.

"Mistress Aeaeae?" The white-haired man with those _odd_ silver eyes came out from behind a shelf, startling Rowena rather a lot. "Or is it Lady Ravenclaw now? Ten and a quarter inches, rather inflexible, manticore claw, I believe."

"Yes, it is," said Rowena, trying to look confident and unspooked, and clutching her wand a bit protectively.

"I heard about your husband's untimely demise," he said. The look of his eyes made her shiver a bit, and she recalled tales of grey-eyed Athena. Athena was her favorite of the gods, but hardly ever kind.

"Yes, well. Muggles never live long," she said.

"And who is your gentleman friend?" Ollivander asked, looking significantly at a spot several yards above her head.

"Oh, this is Godric. Godric, this is Master Ollivander the wandmaker. Best fine wands in London. Godric's a Transfigurator," babbled Rowena. "I'm buying him a wand, so don't worry about the price."

"Hullo," said Godric cautiously.

"A Transfigurator, you say," said Ollivander, looking him up and down. It was not even a rhetorical question. "Something powerful, I suppose."

Godric looked a bit dismayed, for some reason. "Oh, I don't know about --"

"I do," said Ollivander. "I'll see what might work. Something you won't lose or break."

Rowena couldn't help but snort at _that,_ as she knew Godric's memory and luck had always been particularly poor. Godric's expression of dismay had only deepened.

And the wiry old man walked back into the depths of his shop.

"Is he always like that?" Godric whispered.

"Like what?"

"...terrifying?"

"I suspect so," she said. "Actually, I haven't seen him since Mum took me for a wand when I was four... you know, he should probably be dead by now. Perhaps it was his father."

They both shut up, however, as Ollivander glided into the room bearing several large and ornately-decorated boxes. "One of these may work," said Ollivander, carefully setting them on the counter. "Wave it in the air," he said. Godric looked rather doubtful, and poked the air with one of the wands rather gingerly, as though he was afraid he might break something.

"Oh, for gods' sakes, just wave it, you're not going to break anything beyond repair," Rowena finally snapped, getting annoyed.

"Your Transfiguration professor is a bit of an odd choice, don't you think?" Ollivander said quietly, as Godric tried the wands.

"Well, he's a -- who said he was a professor?" Rowena demanded.

"Well, I had simply assumed. Associating oneself with a Transfigurator and covering various large expenses of his when one is running around the British Isles looking for a conveniently university-sized castle... or is he a student?"

"He probably _ought_ to be," Rowena muttered, watching Godric try another wand rather cautiously. "Does everybody _really_ know about the school?"

Ollivander nodded.

"Oh well," said Rowena, shrugging. "More of the right sort of students that way. ...right?"

Ollivander shrugged. "My trade is wandmaking, milady. Nothing more."

"Of course, more students," said Rowena quickly. "It was a rhetorical question." She felt stupid.

"I see." The old man looked amused, but it was rather hard to tell. Rowena felt rather like smacking him.

"Um. What am I looking for exactly?" Godric asked worriedly.

"Just keep trying them," said Ollivander calmly. "It's not your choice to make. Hmm." He studied Godric for a moment. "Try the holly and giant bone -- no, the box on the left. Your other left, yes, that one. Which reminds me... Mistress Aeaeae, I was never quite satisfied with the wand your mother gave you."

"What? It's Lady Ravenclaw," snapped Rowena, who usually preferred people not to use her title, "and I happen to like it." She clung to her wand.

"Oh, it's a fine wand, of course," said Ollivander. "I made it, after all. It just isn't quite a match."

She frowned. "You said it chose me when I got it. You said it was a _perfect_ match."

He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. "And it hasn't been misbehaving, has it?"

"No. No, of course not. Why would it be?"

"I confess that I myself am not entirely certain what is wrong with it, if anything. Have you lost any significant duels lately? ...may I look at it?"

"No, of course not, and you're looking at it right now," Rowena said, glaring.

And without another question, Ollivander simply grabbed Rowena's wand from her.

"You can't do that!" she sputtered as he ran his hands over the grain of the wand's wood, frowning in concentration and, of course, not heeding her at all.

"Hm. Yes, it _seems_ to be in good working order... if you ever have any problems with it, of course, bring it here." He looked a bit unsettled as he handed her wand back, and Rowena took this to mean he'd been wrong. When other people were wrong, it usually meant that she was right, and that plus the safe return of her wand made her feel much better.

Godric was also looking unsettled, she saw, when she turned to see how he was progressing. "This one shot sparks, sir. Is it supposed to do that? I didn't break anything, did I?"

"Here, let me see that one... ah, dragon heartstring and oak. Quite powerful, yes. I ought to have known."

"Oh. All right," said Godric, looking very lost. While Ollivander had his back turned putting the wand back in its box, Godric shot her a mystified look. Rowena shrugged, and mouthed _I think he's mad._ At this he nodded wholeheartedly.

"Well, there you go," said Ollivander, handing the box to Godric. "That will be all?"

"Yes," said Rowena. "Come on, Godric." Clutching the box as though it was going to fly out of his hands at any moment, Godric ducked out of the shop.

"Shouldn't we, you know, pay for it?" he asked once they were out.

"Oh, no, every cutpurse in the city's after us anyway, didn't you notice?" she asked. "I'll send an owl with the money. Better a beak and a good pair of talons between my gold and thieves than a bit of cloth and leather."

"I don't think most people would try to take my money," he said doubtfully. "I don't think most people could _reach_ it. If I had any."

"Good," said Rowena, "I can send _you_ down here to buy things." At this, he looked absolutely terrified, and she smirked.

* * *

Rowena liked flying, because it gave her time alone to think, but she was quite glad when she finally saw Lord Slytherin's castle in the distance. She'd been surprised when she'd received the owl from Slytherin's son, as her mother and Lord Slytherin had some sort of long-standing political disagreement. She'd hesitated in taking them up on the offer, until she realized how very _angry_ it would make her mum. Besides, what other large castle came with a Potions professor and an Arithmancer?

She'd been having second thoughts, though, so she was reassured when the castle came into view. It was bright and solid and modern-looking, she thought, and the surrounding forest and lake would probably keep the number of unwanted visitors to a minimum. Not to mention the guardian trees Helga had made. From this distance, Rowena thought they looked like weeping willows, but she'd seen them up close, and she knew what they did. Avoiding the willows, and guiding her broom down gently -- she much preferred dropping straight down and then stopping the broom at the last possible moment, but that would have been undignified -- Rowena squinted and managed to pick out a blob that was a shade darker than the grass of the lawn. Landing, she wandered up to it.

"Lady Rowena?" it said, and resolved itself into a dark-haired man in deep green robes. "I'm Jasper Slytherin," he said warmly. "Pleased to meet you." He took her hand to kiss it.

Rowena shook his hand firmly instead. "As am I," she said, a carefully neutral expression on her face. She'd never actually spoken with a Slytherin, because while she hadn't _quite_ been raised to believe they all had venomous fangs and split tongues, they were still the Evil Enemy of House Aeaeae.

"Er, well... this is the castle," he said, waving vaguely with one hand. This one looked rather lacking in the fang-and-tongue department, and his skin was red and peeling. The last time Rowena'd met an overly-friendly man with bad sunburn, he'd been a vampire, so she supposed the fangs were still a possibility.

"I had realized that, thank you," she replied. "I suppose I ought to Summon my colleagues. Should I do that here?"

"What? Oh, certainly," he said, "I suppose everyone's still using those Transport Keys?"

Rowena looked strangely at him. "Do you know of any other way?"

He nodded eagerly. "It's called Auto-Apportation -- I invented it myself, you see. In Damascus! I just got back."

"I see," said Rowena. She supposed that explained the sunburn. Unless he was a vampire, of course. She didn't encourage him to rant any further, but she knew it was probably inevitable.

"Of course, it still requires having been to the place you're going, and a good deal of magic, but..." She let him blather on. It seemed to involve a good deal of Arithmancy, which Rowena understood well enough, but had never been her favorite subject. While he spoke, Rowena laid out the pentagram with which she would magnify her power in order to Summon the Transport Key. Then she shook out the seeds of Transportwort that Helga'd given her. She wasn't really very good at transfiguring the seeds into Platonic solids, because her dodecahedrons almost always turned out not to be proper dodecahedrons, and for some reason her tetrahedrons liked to be square pyramids instead. Finally she managed a good cube, placed it in the center of the pentagram, and then stood and waited for him to finish babbling before she Banished it back to London and then did the Summoning Charm.

"And of course, if you could skip all the messing about with transfiguration and the seeds and all that, you could just go wherever you liked in the blink of--"

"Do you have proof?" asked Rowena, cutting Jasper off mid-sentence.

"I -- _Of course_ I have a proof!" He seemed insulted, and then, before Rowena's eyes, he _popped!_ out of existence.

"Er... hello?" She wondered what she'd got herself into, but then, he might've just come up with a variation on an Invisibility Incantation.__

_Pop!_ "Here it is!" he said from behind her. Rowena turned and saw him carrying a thick scroll. "Haven't got the coordinates exact yet -- that's a bit dangerous, I suppose I might end up in the lake one of these days -- but it works in _theory._"

"I'm going to Summon them now," said Rowena, "so would you _please_ be quiet?"

"Oh!" he said. "Er, yes, I'll go inside. Yes. Sorry." With another pop! he disappeared.

Rowena took a deep breath and Banished the cube-seed. She gave them a few minutes to surround it and touch it while she concentrated on the charm. All her concentration had to be on this one spell if she wanted Helga, Basil, and Godric to arrive in one piece. Not that she'd _mind_ if Godric got split in two, but then she'd be short of a Transfiguration professor. Actually, now there would probably be enough of him left for at least two decent professors, she decided.

"_Accio!_" she intoned.

There was a tremendous rush of wind, and suddenly Helga, Basil and Godric were standing there. Helga had fastened herself to Basil's arm, and Godric looked very green, in contrast with his new red cloak.

"Well, come on," she said, "we haven't got all day." Helga and Basil followed, but Godric was looking up at the towers of the castle, wide-eyed. Rowena rolled her eyes and left him outside.

Inside, Rowena found that Jasper was talking animatedly to a man she assumed to be his father. He had a long white beard, a patient expression, and a wrinkled face, but no matter how he tried to seem like a modern-day Merlin, he couldn't hide the fact that he looked rather like a monkey. House Slytherin seemed far less threatening than she had been led to believe.

"Ah, Lady Ravenclaw," said Lord Slytherin, nodding. "And you must be Mistress Hufflepuff," he said, nodding at Helga.

"You've been treating the Willows well?" inquired Helga. "...Rowena, where's Basil?"

"I don't know, he's yours, not mine," said Rowena. If other people were going to lose track of their husbands, it was their business.

"I hate to interrupt, but might the gentleman pounding his fists on the doorway outside be him?" Lord Slytherin asked, motioning behind them.

They turned and saw Basil clawing at empty air. He appeared not to be able to get through the doorway.

"Excuse me," said Helga politely, "but my husband will be an incompetent fool at times. Although usually he manages doorways just fine. What is that? It looks like a ward of some sort..."

"Oh dear," said Jasper, "it's one of my wards gone wrong again, I suppose. I've got the castle warded heavily against Dark creatures, you see," he explained. "I'm fairly certain I'd got it working again, though..."

Basil, evidently, couldn't hear a thing, nor could they hear what he said. "What's going on?" he mouthed. He then stepped aside, shaking his head, and Godric ducked into the door.

Jasper's jaw dropped. His eyes and mouth were wide open, and Rowena hadn't realized one could go quite so pale with such bad sunburn. He looked a bit like a cooked fish. "_Something_ is wrong with the wards," he muttered.

Godric frowned at Rowena and Helga. "Basil can't get in," he said. "He says there are wards."

"We'd heard," said Helga darkly. "Could you possibly take the wards down, Master Slytherin?" she asked Jasper.

"But..." Jasper looked doubtfully up at Godric, and back at Basil.

"Godric, could you possibly ask him to take the wards down?" Helga asked, nodding at Jasper.

"...um." Godric frowned at Helga. Then he frowned at Jasper. Then he frowned at Helga again. "I can only assume you warned them about my pathological hunger for human flesh," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Godric, this is Jasper Slytherin," said Rowena, "the noted Arithmancer, and his father Lord Salazar Slytherin, the noted... er. The. Well, he's on the Council, that's notable. And," she said, now addressing the Slytherins, "this is Godric of Gryffindor, our Transfigurator. He happens to be afraid of blood, dogs, bees, snakes, carnivorous plants, loud noises, heights, rodents, thunderstorms, Tuesdays, vampires, and the number thirteen. Do feel free to mock him about this whenever possible. Am I forgetting anything?"

"I'm not really much for closed-in spaces or low ceilings," said Godric, looking up at the high ceiling as though it might fall in on him. "But other than that, I don't think so. I'm doing better about the rats, but they're still nasty." He shuddered.

"We, er. We didn't know you had a part-giant Transfigurator with you," said Jasper, obviously trying to be polite.

"Part-_giant?_" Godric looked disgusted.

"Godric is Muggleborn," said Helga pleasantly. "Can we please let Basil in? I'm a bit surprised he hasn't managed to break the wards down by now, frankly."

"Ah. Muggleborn," said Jasper weakly.

"Part-_giant?_ Eugh." He sounded vaguely traumatized.

"Jasper, perhaps you had better take the wards down for Master Hufflepuff?" Lord Slytherin supplied. He had clearly kept all the common sense in the family for himself, Rowena decided.

There was a sudden crash like shattered glass from the doorway, and they turned in time to see Basil fall through, onto the stone floor. He stood and began to dust himself off. "Those were very good wards," he said, "so I hope you paid the wardmaker good silver, but you're going to have to owl him and have him put new ones up that'll let me in."

"...well, I think there's something wrong with the -- what exactly -- how did you break it?" demanded Jasper.

"Well, it had a sort of net thing, so I just moved that aside --"

"Oh, that's the anti-werewolf bit. I thought I'd got that one right."

"You had, in fact," said Basil, sounding a bit tense. "Good thing it wasn't very strong," he added.

Jasper blinked, and started whispering furiously at his father. Among the more distinguishable words were "...permitting a _werewolf_..." and "...wake up with our throats slit in the night!"

"Is there a problem?" Basil asked, glaring.

"Yes," said Jasper, at the exact same time that Lord Slytherin was smiling and saying "No, not at all."

Jasper looked as though he was about to explode. "But --"

"Jasper, why don't you fix your wards so that they'll let werewolves in?" said Lord Slytherin.

"But --" Now he was just getting whiny.

"Would you like to see the rest of the castle?" he asked them.

"Of course we would!" said Rowena, perhaps a bit too cheerfully.

"Yes, yes, we would," said Helga, nudging Basil, who was still glaring.

"Follow me, then," said Lord Slytherin, walking briskly down the hall.

"Come _on,_ Basil." Helga tried to dragged Basil away.

"Mind you keep a short leash on your mutt," Jasper told her. "I suppose I'll go redo the wards, then," he said lightly. He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Basil grumbling.

"...you know, we should probably follow Lord Slytherin before we lose him, and we get lost in the castle, and have to depend on that Jasper to tell us where everything is," said Godric ramblingly.

"Yes, we should," said Helga. "_Basil!_" she hissed.

Rowena rolled her eyes at the rest of this and followed Lord Slytherin, whether or not the others were coming. This was going to be a long day, and she already had a headache.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of classes at Hogwarts. Ever. Godric is mistaken for the spawn of Satan, and has trouble with public speaking.

Godric paced around and around, the action seeming almost natural because the room itself was round. He put his face in his hands. _Dear God,_ he thought, _why did I agree to do this?_

He took another glance at the open book resting on the desk that sat in front of an arrow-slit he used as a window. The book told him that this was the first of September and that the year was 1113 _Anno Domini,_ while the arrow-slit window told him that the sun was just starting to rise. Godric had risen with the sun since he was a child, but that wasn't why he was awake now.

It was nerves. He was frightened beyond speech, and by children who he hadn't even met. _Calm down,_ he told himself. _No, I can't calm down!_ another voice said. _I was right when I said I couldn't teach! How could I have been so stupid? Why did I decide to do this?_

Then again, it hadn't been much of a choice. He could have starved in Gryffindor's Hollow. And Fudge would have found out about his copy of the _Voluma Animaguum_ soon enough. Better to be here, with Rowena trying to steal his work, than to be shouted at for not being able to instantly grant Fudge with the mystical ability to turn into whatever animal he so chose. At least Rowena understood that it didn't _work_ that way. Of course, she was cleverer than he was, and more well-versed in languages and heathenish stories, and the original Society of Animagi had done all they could to obfuscate their art, so he was fairly sure she'd beat him to it anyway. But it was a labor of love and futility, not of practicality.

In fact, now that he thought about it, he should have been working on the _Voluma Animaguum_ right now, but he didn't think he could concentrate, and transfiguration without concentration was more dangerous than many intentional curses. So he resumed pacing. Pacing was something he could do without effort, and also something he could do while thinking about something else. But in this building, it was better to go to a private room to pace, as everything in the castle seemed to shift around, and Godric's memory was terrible anyway.

Godric really couldn't blame the castle for being restless on a day like today.

"I am _not_ going to panic," he said aloud, although he didn't seem to hear himself. "All right, perhaps I _am_ going to panic. In fact -- yes, I'm panicking right now," he realized. "That must be why I'm talking to myself! Oh, lovely, I'm going mad, too." He looked out the window and saw that the sun had levered itself halfway above the horizon. "I should really stop talking to myself -- supposing someone should hear me," he said, more to break the silence than for anyone's benefit. He supposed he should go down to breakfast at this point, but he decided not to. While Godric felt like he'd never really had enough to eat until he'd come to the castle, today he felt vaguely nauseated and not particularly hungry.__

_I think I'll skip breakfast,_ he thought. _In fact, can I skip the entire day?_ With this thought he sat down on his bed and quietly panicked once more.

When he looked up at the arrow-slit again, he realized that he was probably going to be very late to his first class.

"Gah!" He was too frightened to think coherently, much less to teach. He ran down the staircase to the dormitories below, where he found that the students had all left to go to their first class: Transfiguration. He closed his eyes. _No. This is bad. Make it stop!_

_Well,_ he thought, when the universe had failed to obey him, _I suppose there's nothing for it but to run like hell._ He dashed out of the common room at a terrific pace.

* * *

Six frightened children were standing in a worried knot just outside the Great Hall.

"Our first class is Transfiguration," someone said authoritatively. Julian de Malfoie looked up and saw that it was a brown-haired girl who looked as though she knew what she was doing. She was squinting at a wrinkled bit of parchment.

"What's Transfiguration?" he asked curiously.

"Ah, you're Muggle-born, aren't you?" asked the brown-haired girl.

"What?" asked Julian. Whatever she'd said, it sounded like an insult. Perhaps it was a _curse._ But Lady Ravenclaw had seemed nice when she'd asked Julian's father if he wanted to send Julian to a wizard school. So what did he have to worry about?

She squinted at the parchment again. "I think the room's down here, but I'm not sure."

"Who are you?" a red-haired boy asked her. He had several tons of freckles on his face, and Julian studied him with faint disgust -- he was very poorly-dressed, and he had a peasanty accent. But he seemed to know as little as Julian himself did, and for that Julian sided with him.

"And what's a Muggle-born?" asked Julian.

"I know it because it's written right here," said the girl, pointing at some incomprehensible lines scrawled on the parchment. "My name's Helena," she added.

"I'm Devlin," said the redhead.

"Julian," Julian said.

"Isn't that a girl's name?" asked Devlin.

"No!" said Julian. Who did he think he was, anyway?

"Is your nickname Julie?" asked Devlin.

"Juliet," said Helena, squinting. "He looks a bit like a Juliet."

Julian felt himself going red. "It is _not_ a girl's name! And what kind of a name is Devlin, anyway? It sounds as though you're a devil." Two girls, who seemed to know Devlin, laughed weakly before returning to their standard frightened rabbit expressions.

"It does not!" Devlin said.

"Come _on_," said Helena. "We're going to be late! And what's a devil, anyway?"

"Isn't that one of those dangerous _Christian_ things?" asked a thin, pale boy nervously.

"Devils are these evil demon things, with big horns coming out of their heads and pointy tails and they breathe _fire!_" explained Devlin in one breath.

"Sounds boring," said Helena. "Come on, we're going to be very late to class," she said, motioning them down the hall.

"They do _not_ breathe fire," said Julian.

"And how would you know?" asked Devlin. "My older brother says they do."

"And I suppose _he_ would know?" asked Julian.

"As long as nothing shows up _here,_ we're fine," said the thin boy.

"_I_ heard there was a demon professor," said Devlin.

"From who?" asked Julian and the thin boy at the same time.

"My older brother," Devlin muttered.

"If I were your older brother, I'd tell you all _sorts_ of things," said the thin boy. "You're very gullible."

"I am _not!_" said Devlin.

"Well, then, we're all a bit gullible if we're here, aren't we?" asked Julian. "Magic isn't supposed to be real," he added. "The Pope said so himself, says Father."

"No good can come of an institution that restricts things like that," said the thin boy sanctimoniously. Helena sighed as though she'd heard it all before. "My Uncle Glendower isn't even allowed to study corpses! Even if he _promises_ not to make them do things!"

Devlin and Julian exchanged horrified glances, but Helena simply rolled her eyes. "You're scaring the Muggle-borns, Ethelbert. This is Ethelbert Filch, by the way," she told them.

"Sorry," said the previously nameless Ethelbert. "Muggles are a pet peeve of mine."

"Shouldn't we be going to class? We're going to be late," said Julian, who was anxious to make a good impression. And so Helena, Devlin, Julian, Ethelbert Filch, and the two frightened rabbit girls (whose names turned out to be Gwen and Alice), they set off to find the classroom.

When they reached the empty classroom after going in circles around the castle for what seemed like forever, Helena told everyone where to sit, saying, "Won't the teacher be _surprised_ that we're here before him, and in the right order?"

Devlin asked eagerly if she knew what subject the demon professor taught. She looked annoyed. "There _is_ no demon professor," she snapped.

"Perhaps he teaches _this_ class," said Devlin. "Perhaps _that's_ where he keeps peoples' bodies," he added, pointing to a sort of wooden box that sat at the front of the classroom. It was huge and rectangular, with the longer side facing them. It looked, Julian noted uncomfortably, as though it could hold at least four bodies.

"The Church wouldn't _let_ him keep bodies in there," said Ethelbert glumly.

"Well," said Devlin, "if he was a demon, the Church wouldn't be able to do anything about him, would they?"

"They could exorcise him," said Julian.

"In a godless place like a school of magic?" asked Devlin.

"Excuse me?" asked Helena. "Godless? We aren't _godless!_ We have quite enough gods, thank you very much!"

"The Church thinks you're godless," explained Devlin, sounding offended. "I never said _I_ thought you were godless. Have as many gods as you like!"

"This whole debate is pointless," said Helena, "as there's no demon professor and there never will be. My mother wouldn't employ anyone who ate people," she continued.

"Your _mother?_" asked Devlin and Julian.

Helena turned bright red. "She _wouldn't,_" she repeated under her breath.

Their earlier 'Julian-is-a-girl's-name' dispute forgotten, Devlin and Julian exchanged glances.

"Your mother wouldn't happen to be Lady Ravenclaw, would she?" asked Julian.

She said nothing.

"Perhaps her mother's the demon professor," said Devlin helpfully.

She turned her head slowly towards Devlin and Julian, her eyes mere slits. Gwen (or was it Alice?) emitted a small squeak and put a hand over her mouth as Helena jumped at them, fists clenched.

Devlin and Julian jumped out of their seats just in time -- both of them knew that you shouldn't hit a girl, and Julian, for his part, had never hit _anyone_ and didn't know how it was done. He was about to ask Filch for some help, when Alice (or Gwen? Everything was so confusing today!) gave a much louder squeak and fell over in a dead faint. The blood had drained from Helena's face and she was staring at something at the front of the room.

"Oh _dear,_" said a worried voice from where Helena was looking. Julian and Devlin's eyes slid towards the direction of the voice, and saw that the speaker was a man of about twenty, who had brown hair and an apologetic expression, and was comparable in height with a fully-grown mountain troll.

"I'm assuming that's not her mother," hissed Julian angrily. Devlin nodded, gulped, and sat down rather delicately, as though any sudden moves might upset the recent arrival. Helena had already done this, of course, and not wanting to be left out, Julian grabbed his seat and collapsed into it. Now the only person out of their seat was Alice-or-Gwen, who was still making up for missed sleep.

"Does she always do this?" asked the Demon Professor, indicating Alice-or-Gwen.

"A-all the time," stuttered Devlin. Gwen-or-Alice nodded.

"Isn't there some sort of long Latin name for that kind of thing? Oh well, never mind," said the Demon Professor, who wasn't behaving in a particularly demonic manner. To tell the truth, it was a bit disappointing.

He walked over to Alice-or-Gwen, got down on one knee so that he could see her face, and said "_Ennervate!_" suddenly, waving what appeared to be a wand at her. Julian sat up -- this was more like it!

Alice-or-Gwen opened her eyes, shrieked, and said, "Please don't eat me!"

The Demon Professor looked truly horrified, but then, Minions of Evil had to be good actors, hadn't they? "Are you all right?" he asked her. He turned to the rest of the class. "Did she hit her head?"

Alice-or-Gwen didn't seem to know about the job requirements of Minions of Evil. "He was talking about dead bodies," she said, pointing an accusing finger at Ethelbert Filch. "_And_ he's a heretic," she added bravely. "And _he,_" she said, pointing at Devlin, "said something about a demon professor."

"A demon professor?" asked the Demon Professor, who was obviously going to attempt a clever ruse. Julian, however, was on to his game. "Come to think of it, we _have_ got a demon professor. She's not around at the moment, though," he said sadly.

Suddenly someone started pounding on the door. "Godric, you idiot!" shouted a woman from behind it. Julian wasn't sure, but he _thought_ it was Lady Ravenclaw.

"This is _not_ my day," said the Demon Professor, whose name was apparently Godric. He put his face in his hands and muttered something about a headache.

"Godric, you're going to give that book back in good condition if _you_ want to stay in one piece!" said the voice, which was _definitely_ Lady Ravenclaw. She slammed the door open, and the teacher gulped. Perhaps he wasn't a demon professor, thought Julian. He doubted anyone would treat a demon the way most people treated a bratty child.

The teacher gulped and held his wand uncertainly. "Now, Rowena, if you'd just--"

"Just what?" asked Lady Ravenclaw. "You -- you little _runt,_ it'd better be in good repair or I'll repair you! With a cleaver!" Julian was not certain exactly what Lady Ravenclaw was seeing, because their Transfiguration teacher fit the description of 'little runt' about as much as a dragon could be termed 'a charming pet.'

"W-would you let me _explain_ \--" started the professor, backing up behind the giant wooden box so that it was between himself and Lady Ravenclaw. Julian suddenly realized that the wooden box must be his _desk._

"Explain _what?_" demanded Lady Ravenclaw, shooting several balls of fire at her opponent, who side-stepped them quickly. Julian was now completely convinced that, despite outward appearances, this was not the dreaded Demon Professor.

The ex-demon (and apparently ex-professor) seemed to be condemned to a fiery death at the wand of a madwoman, when suddenly he pointed _his_ wand at his desk. It became a huge monstrous thing with a lion's body, a scorpion's tail, and the face of a man, but with razor-sharp teeth.

"You can't _do_ that!" said Lady Ravenclaw, shocked at an apparent gross violation of rules. She distanced herself as much as possible from the beast. "Ninane's Non-Undoability Principle forbids it!"

"It's a _Deformis_ Disparity," he countered as the monster roared. There was a small smile on his face, and Julian waited for him to say 'Ha!' defiantly.

"Rowena, you're slipping," she muttered, putting her hand to her forehead as though she had a headache. She waved her wand at the beast, and it paused woodenly, then melted back into a perfectly mundane (if rather oversized) desk. "Where was I? Oh yes, the book --"

"Is right here!" he said, holding a thick, leather-bound volume over her head. "I just had to look something up, that's all. I _meant_ to put it back but I got lost on the way to the library..." He trailed off, looking glum. With a flick of her wand, it flew into her arms. She tossed it some distance away, opened it with a spell, and, when she was satisfied that it wasn't rigged, grabbed it, flipped through it one last time, and left.

By this time, most of the class was looking deeply impressed with their teacher, except for Helena, who was deeply _embarrassed_ but only vaguely impressed.

* * *

Godric, now that he was in front of an actual class, was wondering if he should have just let Rowena kill him, because the class was apparently convinced he hailed from a circle of Hell and not a tiny Muggle village, and he hadn't actually prepared a good introduction to his class. He supposed that Transfiguration was not entirely useful, but it was worth learning because... er, well, because it was? Because big complicated spells needed it, he supposed. He glanced at the class, and from their astonished faces he supposed he'd have to explain himself.

"Can you do that again?" asked a red-haired boy whose name Godric didn't know, as he'd left his seating chart in his tower room.

"How did you _do_ that?" asked a blonde boy seated next to the first. Godric didn't know his name either.

Two girls, who looked to be more or less the same person, clung together in fright.

A tall, dark-haired boy was writing something down quickly. "What's Ninane's Non-thingy-majigger?" he asked quickly. "And how do you spell it?"

"En eye en ay en ee," said a girl with a very red face. "And I don't know what it is. Ask him."

"I was!" countered the boy.

"Er," said Godric eloquently. "I don't know anyone's names."

"Oh, that's all right," said the girl who'd spelled 'Ninane'. She held up a piece of parchment and said, "Mum gave me this -- and yes, she _is_ my mother," she added nastily to the blonde boy, while waving the parchment at Godric.

Godric took it. "So, there's... Devlin, Julian, Helena, Ethelbert, Gwen, and Alice," he said, pointing at the relevant seats. Gwen and Alice must have discovered that they were in the wrong seats, as they switched hurriedly and continued looking terrified.

"Er, yes," said Godric. "This is, er, Transfiguration, which basically means turning one thing into something else, as with that desk and the manticore. We won't be covering manticores anytime soon, unfortunately, because they're a bit dangerous and I don't want anybody to die." With some surprise, Godric realized that he _did_ have some idea of what he was talking about, and that the class seemed to understand as well, even Gwen and Alice. He went on to explain some basic principles of the subject, and soon noticed that he didn't seem to be fouling everything up. In fact, he seemed to know what he was doing. Perhaps he would keep this job after all...

* * *

The students filed into Rowena's classroom, laughing and talking until they saw who was sitting at the front of the room. Rowena realized that her little confrontation with Godric might have unnerved them slightly. She supposed she'd better make it clear that her grudge was not against them, but against Godric. Flicking her wand almost unnoticeably, she cast a mere suggestion of a Calming Charm and stood up. "Good morning," she said cheerfully.

They all mumbled in response, but sat down. Most of them stared at either Rowena or Helena. Rowena noted that the de Malfoie boy was amongst the students and raised an eyebrow -- his Muggle father had not consented to let his son attend the school, preferring to leave the child's education up to some sort of religious institution. She decided that later she would ask the boy how he'd made his father see the light, as the father had seemed loving but rather closedminded.

The other students who were already here were mostly the children of poor Muggles, though Rowena knew that a few other wizard-born students would be flying in later in the day, when their parents were awake enough to bring them in. For this reason she had decided to devote her opening class to explaining the fact of magic's existence, non-malevolence, and lack of specific religious affiliation rather than to learning actual magic, as this was the bit that wizard-born students could afford to miss.

"This class," Rowena began, "is called Charms, and in it you will be learning a variety of spells and incantations, as well as the theory behind them. However, I'd like you to gain an understanding of magic before we begin, as I know most of you don't really have a good idea of what magic _is._ Most of you -- excepting young Master Filch, of course -- have grown up hearing that magic is something you may obtain only through dealing with demons. So, today we will start with _these._" She pulled out a large box of aura-lenses, on which she'd cast multiple Unbreakable Charms, and passed one out to each student. "Now," she said, "what do you make of them?"

The confusion on their faces turned swiftly to wonder as they discovered that their classmates were glowing with bright colors. Even Alice was grinning as she scrutinized her classmates through the lens. "Gwen, look! You've got the loveliest sort of green around you!"

"Where?" Gwen examined her hands.

"Here, look through this," Alice said, pressing the lens into her hand.

"You're all pink! ...Devlin's the color of his hair, look at that!" The freckled boy stuck his tongue out at them, and they laughed.

* * *

It was lunchtime, and most of the students (several more had trickled in throughout the day) were either greedily stuffing their faces or preparing to do so.

"I'm confused," said Julian, grabbing five or six almond-cardamom cakes and popping one into his mouth. When he'd swallowed, he continued. "_Why_ do they hate each other?"

"I don't _know!_" said Helena. "I _think_ it has something to do with this experiment... thingy... that Mum's working on.

"Experiment thingy?" asked Devlin (though it came out sounding like 'Effeffifenf fingee' through his mouthful of roast beef).

"Yes, an experiment thingy. And she won't tell me what it is, either."

"Perhaps it's dangerous," Julian ventured.

"Perhaps it's evil!" Devlin suggested enthusiastically.

"I don't think it's evil," said Helena thoughtfully, staring into space. "The last time she did something evil, she was behaving _much_ more oddly..." she continued, trailing off. Julian and Devlin exchanged glances, both looking like suckling pigs, with their mouths stuffed full of food and their eyes wide and startled. "No, it's definitely not something evil," concluded Helena. "It _could_ be dangerous, though. I'm going to find out," she decided suddenly.

"How are you going to do _that?_" asked Julian. Devlin was still processing Helena's earlier comments.

"I don't know," said Helena. "I suppose I'll just poke around a bit. She's not very good at hiding things. Particularly sweets," she added with a satisfied smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the school year continues, Rowena's mother writes to warn of an impending visit. Meanwhile, one of the students may not have asked permission before showing up at Hogwarts.

As September progressed students trickled in from all areas, though they didn't seem to be coming from as many of the larger families. Rowena knew that this was probably because the Wizard's Council had not formally approved the school, though Salazar was the head of one of the Thirteen Houses by which it was governed. She suspected her mother had spoken against it. Lord Slytherin might have been one of the most powerful members of the Wizard's Council, but Rowena's mother, Lady Aeaeae, was Chief.

Ah, yes. Rowena's mother. That was an interesting subject if ever there was one.

Most people with embarrassing relatives usually pretended that they didn't exist. Batty old aunts or black-sheep-of-the-family sons were prime targets for this sort of thing. "Aunt?" one could say, "I haven't got an aunt! What gave you a silly idea like that?"

On the other hand, _everyone_ had a mother.

It wasn't that Rowena didn't _love_ her mother. She did. She just didn't get along with her very well. Rowena wasn't sure if it was that her mother wanted to control everything about Rowena's life, or if it was because her attitude towards government was roughly the same as her attitude towards parenting, but with more oubliettes and torture chambers.

So when her mother owled her, saying that she would be coming to see the school, Rowena nearly choked on her porridge.

"Is something wrong?" asked Jasper as her face turned green.

"No!" she said a bit too quickly. Perhaps she could salvage the situation. Her mother's handwriting wasn't particularly legible, after all - perhaps she'd written that she wanted to go back to her roots and move to Greece, though this was unlikely. Mother never had cared for that sort of thing. It wasn't fashionable.

"What's this?" asked Godric, rudely reaching over Jasper's head and grabbing the scroll.

"Give it back!" said Rowena, forgetting that her spoon was not a wand and pointing it at Godric.

"That's terribly threatening," he said sarcastically. Upon unrolling the scroll, however, he shouted "Ack! My eyes, my eyes!" With a hand over his eyes, he gave the scroll to Basil, saying, "It's full of Dark magic!"

"It seems to be some sort of cryptic prophecy," said Basil, turning it sideways and squinting. "If we could only figure out what these ancient symbols meant --"

"Give it back!" shouted Rowena, readying herself to dump porridge all over Basil's head.

"Good Lord, Rowena," said Helga. "How _do_ you decipher this, anyway? She should send an answer key with each letter. Written by somebody else. _Anybody_ else."

"And what's this about a... 'yak-infested'... er... 'particulate?'" asked Godric, turning his head sideways so that he could read it, or at least pretend to.

"That," said Rowena, finally grabbing the letter from Helga, "is _none_ of your business. With friends like you, I should be paid one Galleon a week per enemy."

"Ooh, am I being counted as a friend?" asked Godric with an air of great surprise.

"No, you're one of the enemies," snapped Rowena.

"What? I'm only worth a Galleon?"

Rowena simply rolled her eyes. She'd been having a perfectly good week -- all of her students had scored highly on the last test she'd given, which meant she could go on to something more complex than Levitation. And now _this!_ It simply was not fair. Then again, she supposed that she was luckier than most.

"How is your mother, anyway?" asked Helga, in an attempt to cheer her up.

"She's... she's my _mother,_ Helga," said Rowena.

"Ah," said Helga, nodding understandingly. She cocked her head. "That would go with you being her daughter, then?"

"She's coming to visit," Rowena said impulsively, immediately regretting it.

"Is she bringing an answer key?" asked Basil, leaning forward eagerly.

Helga gently hit him over the head with an empty plate. "Basil, be nice."

"I _am_ being nice! This is me being nice! You don't think I'm nice?"

"Basil, shut up," said Helga pleasantly. "And pass me the milk."

"I don't think I've ever met your mother," said Godric, with some interest. If she'd believed in extra-sensory powers, she'd have thought Godric _knew_ exactly the worst thing to say in any conversation.

"That's because you hid in the corner when she came," said Rowena. "Consider yourself lucky."

"Oh, was _that_ her?" Godric asked.

"Oh, don't exaggerate so much," said Helga. "Your mother's actually very nice."

"Nng," said Rowena eloquently, putting her hands over her face.

"She's just a little... er... _controlling,_" said Helga tactfully.

"I don't think you need to defend my own mother for me, Helga," sighed Rowena.

"Well you don't seem to be doing a very good job," said Helga.

"That's because she's _beyond_ defense."

Helga sighed and got up from the table. "Oh, never mind. Now remember, the meeting is in the greenhouse before lunch," she told them. Rowena and Basil rolled their eyes as though they'd been reminded all-too-often, but Godric suddenly sat up straight.

"Ink," he muttered under his breath for reasons understood only by him. From the depths of his pockets he pulled a quill and a bottle of ink, and proceeded to write something on the palm of his hand in large red letters, but whatever it was promptly got ruined when he closed his hand and the wet ink went all over. The others had by now finished breakfast, and soon the Great Hall was empty.

* * *

Later that day, Helga dismissed her literacy class, which she and Rowena taught alternately. This was a class to teach the less-educated children how to read and write, and it would hopefully be extended to teaching proper Latin later when the students had learned how to write phonetically in the _langue d'oïl._

Rowena was already waiting outside when the students left. With only one small class of students running around the school, the castle was largely empty, and teachers had entirely too much free time on their hands. Not that anyone else seemed to mind this, but Helga had an unfortunate tendency to become bored. When she'd been commissioned to do the security trees for Lord Salazar's castle, Basil had had to keep her from making the willows breathe fire and spit venom. Helga was the kind of person who needed to be kept busy, or she would keep herself busy.

But Rowena still looked upset. It was just like Rowena, to get upset about the little things and miss the big picture entirely.

"Oh, come on, it's not all that bad, now, is it?" said Helga.

"She's going to try and get me _married_ again, Helga, I just know it," said Rowena despairingly. "And I just can't put up with that, not now with Helena starting school -- I think Helena's finally forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" asked Helga.

"Her father," said Rowena with a sigh.

"Good riddance," said Helga, moving some potted plants from the table to the corner of the greenhouse.

"You shouldn't say that," said Rowena, digging her finger absently into some soil.

"Well, _you_ didn't like him, I don't see why _I_ should," said Helga, crossing her arms. "After all, it's his own bloody fault he's dead. If he'd let you look into some good healing potions, he'd be alive and, er... as well as a Muggle gets, at any rate. And don't look so guilty!" she snapped at Rowena. She inspected the students' projects - one of the plants was getting frightfully over-watered and the roots were sticking out above the soil, gasping for air. "That de Malfoie boy. How's he doing in Charms?"

"Julian?" asked Rowena, brightening. "Oh, he's my best student."

"Is he?" asked Helga in surprise.

"Why?"

"Oh, nothing, he's just giving his poor beans root-rot. Frightfully earnest boy, at least."

"Beans?" asked Rowena. "You're not making them grow Venus Mantraps?" she asked in disbelief. "Why are they growing just _beans?_"

"Ah," said Helga, "but they're _magic_ beans!"

"Where have I heard that one before?" asked Basil from the door. He was carrying a large bundle of scrolls under one arm.

"You, Master Wolf, are in quite the wrong story," said Helga.

"But in this one nobody gets eaten," said Basil. "Good afternoon, milord," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to Lord Slytherin.

"Magic beans?" Lord Slytherin asked. "No giants, please, they make cleaning the castle quite a task. Peeves is beginning to grumble." Peeves was one of Lord Slytherin's goblin servants. "Not that he doesn't already, of course." Now they were only waiting for Godric, as Jasper was teaching a class this hour. It was a good thing, too, reflected Helga, because she really didn't think Rowena needed anything more to be irritated at.

Godric was ten minutes late. Predictably, Rowena glared at him, and predictably, he glared right back.__

_Well, it's not as though she can blame him for being so late,_ thought Helga. _After all, she did put him in that tower, and it's far away from nearly everything._

"What's _that?_" asked Godric, pointing at one of her latest experiments, a plant with long, streaming vines straggling out of it, waving in every direction. Each vine was dotted with small, elegantly-curved thorns.

"Oh, that's my Venomous Tentacula," said Helga.

"Tentacula?" Rowena asked, studying the plant with great interest.

"Venomous?" asked Godric, with equal but opposite interest. He edged away from it, carefully.

"Aren't Tentaculas found mainly in _Africa?_" asked Rowena, peering at the plant.

"_Venomous?_" repeated Godric. Helga blinked at him.

"Yes, venomous," she said cheerfully, nodding. "This new strain creates a poison not unlike the venom of the three-headed Runespoor, which is also native to Africa."

"How did you manage to do that?" asked Lord Salazar curiously.

"Well, -- and you probably already know this, but -- the rightmost head - the poisonous one," clarified Helga, "retains some of its --"

Godric cleared his throat. "Are you telling us that there is an extremely poisonous plant sitting right over there and it's ready to reach out and bite any one of us?" He was looking at the plant as though it might jump out of its pot at any moment. "It's just _sitting_ there without any wards around it?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "Really, Godric, you're making a big fuss over nothing," she said. "Besides, I fed it just this morning. It won't be hungry for at least an hour," she said.

"But that thing is _dangerous!_" said Godric.

"Godric, shut up and stop whining," snapped Rowena. "Helga can take care of herself."

"Yeah, but I'm not worried about her, I'm worried about _me,_" said Godric.

"Yes, because you're a coward," said Rowena.

"So what if I am?" he asked, shrugging.

"If it means that much to you," said Lord Salazar, holding up a hand to stop the argument, "I will begin looking for an antidote to Runespoor venom immediately. May I assume they are nearly the same?" he asked Helga.

Before Helga had a chance to answer his question, the door flew open, and there stood Jasper, looking as though he'd just run from Marathon to Athens.

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Rowena, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"I -- er, I was teaching my class, and suddenly, Alice - or was it Gwen? I can't keep the two apart --"

"Never mind that," said Basil, "what's going on?"

"She was looking out the window, not paying attention at all --"

"And?" asked Rowena.

"And there are a hundred Muggles standing outside with weapons."

The others stood dumbfounded for a second or two, but Helga broke the silence. "The willows!" she snarled. "If they laid a hand on those willows, they're going to die!"

"Well, if they get within ten feet of them, the willows will kill them anyway," Godric pointed out.

"We can't _kill_ them," said Basil. "The Wizards' Council will --"

"You forget, I'm _on_ the Wizards' Council," said Lord Salazar.

"We'd better not hurt them, though," said Rowena. "If we do, all of the _other_ Muggles will want to avenge their deaths or something like that. Very bandwagonish, Muggles."

"How else are we going to get rid of them, though?" asked Jasper.

"What we need," said Rowena thoughtfully, "is something to frighten them. Can any of you do illusions? We need to be able to produce a dragon or something..."

"No, no, not a dragon," said Godric. "Haven't you ever heard of St. George?"

Rowena shook her head.

"A Muggle who took on a full-grown Welsh Green-Hebridean hybrid because he thought it was the Devil," explained Basil. "And won." The others looked impressed.

"No, no, what we need is something that isn't going to be mistaken for evil incarnate," said Godric. "Something familiar enough that they won't want to kill it immediately. It ought to be at least _vaguely_ human." An evil grin spread slowly across Rowena's face. She caught Helga's eye, and nodded her head slightly toward Godric. Helga agreed with her; if anyone was going to be mistaken for evil incarnate, it wasn't Godric. The object of their silent conversation continued on, oblivious. "A simulacrum, perhaps, or... what?" he asked suddenly, realizing that they were staring at him. "_Vaguely_ human!" he said, voice rising in panic. "It has to be _vaguely_ human!" He backed into the Venomous Tentacula, which wrapped a vine around his wrist. There was no escaping it now.

* * *

"Are you certain that this is a good idea?" Godric asked nervously, although they'd spent the last few minutes explaining to him that this was a _very_ good idea. He was clutching his wrist where the Tentacula had tried to bite him; it still stung a bit.

"Of _course_ it's a good idea, as it's mine," said Rowena simply, as though she didn't think he'd understand the longer explanation.

"I should have known," he muttered. _Oh, please God, let me live,_ he thought to himself as the Muggles' battering ram slammed against the door again. "What if I die?" he asked suddenly.

"Don't worry," said Rowena cheerfully, "no one will miss you." She looked as though she might try to pat him on the head.

"Rowena!" Helga snapped. "If you die, we'll have a nice funeral," she said reassuringly.

"It had better be nice," he growled to himself. _I will not panic. I will not die. There's only an_ army _out there waiting to kill me, after all!_ "There are Muggles out there! Muggles! Do you know what they do to people? They burn them or poke their eyes out with fire or they throw stones at them until their skulls are -- are -- are all --" He shuddered. "And that's without killing them first!"

"There wouldn't be much point to the punishment if they burnt them _dead,_" said Rowena dryly. "Oh, that reminds me, don't forget your cloak. It's bound to be nippy."

"Yes, milady," said Godric, rolling his eyes. Rowena glared, and she reached for her wand, but before she could do anything Godric was out the door. He shut it quickly behind him. It was better to face angry Muggles than an angry Rowena.

Or was it? He gulped, looking around at the mass of soldiers, each clutching a long, deadly-looking pike. There were six men holding up a battering ram, although one let go when he saw Godric. The rest found it too heavy and dropped it on their toes.

"Er..." said Godric, wondering where to start. He lifted the battering ram off the soldiers' feet so they would stop howling. "Good morning," he said politely to the man who appeared to be their leader. He had a thin, pale face.

The Fearless Leader's expression changed from frightened to puzzled. "We demand that you surrender!" he said, shaking one fist up at Godric.

"Well, that's very... too bad," said Godric, wringing his hands. "I think maybe you should revise your demand -- it's a bit more than they're willing to do, you see. Now, _me,_ I think surrender's generally a really good idea when you're outnumbered, but --"

"Then I challenge you! To a fight! To the death!" said Fearless Leader, waving his fist in the air at the end of every sentence. He sounded like every cliché hero there had ever been put together using bad Amputatis Charms.

Godric started to feel a bit queasy. In his mind, Rowena laughed, _Don't worry, no one will miss you,_ over and over again. "I'd really rather not," he said. "Erm... your army is running away, you know," he added helpfully.

"What?" asked Fearless Leader, whirling around. It was true -- most of the Muggles had dropped their weapons and were retreating quickly. "Stop! Would all of you stop! Please? STOP! I'M RAISING THE TAXES! COWARDS!"

Suddenly, something clicked in Godric's head. "You wouldn't happen to be Julian de Malfoie's father, would you?" he asked.

Fearless Leader turned back to Godric, eyes wide. "What have you done with Julian?"

"Nothing at all," said Godric, "he's actually very good at Charms, I've heard, and also -- erk!" Lord de Malfoie had picked up one of the pikes and held it at Godric's throat. Godric grabbed it back. "Now look here, you're going to hurt someone with that!" he said, breaking the weapon in half. "I was going to invite you in for lunch," said Godric, "but if _you're_ going to start grabbing sharp objects and ramming them at people, I suppose you're just going to have to leave," he said, glaring at Lord de Malfoie as he would at a misbehaving student.

Something in de Malfoie's face changed. "You're not a demon, are you?" he asked.

"No," said Godric, "I'm a teacher. Come in," he said, "it's getting rather cold." He pushed at the door, but it didn't move. "Rowena!" he shouted through the wood, "if you don't let me in, I'm going to break this door down, spell or no spell!"

He heard a flurry of muffled voices - Lord Salazar ("He won't _really_ do that, will he?"), Helga ("_Rowena!_ Do you know how much doors like that cost? You're wasting trees!"), and Rowena ("All right, all right! You have no sense of humor, Helga. _Finite incantatem!_"). The door opened, and he let himself in. Hesitantly, Lord de Malfoie stepped into the castle, perhaps expecting everyone else to look like Godric. He was met with an angry chorus of "Godric!"

"This is Julian's father, Lord de Malfoie," said Godric. De Malfoie blinked.

There was silence for a moment, then Rowena said "Oh!" Shaking de Malfoie's hand, she continued. "Julian is one of my best students," she said, becoming Happy Teacher Lady. Godric groaned: he _hated_ Happy Teacher Lady. "Come, won't you join us for lunch?"

"We have very good house-elves," added Helga, who, though she looked concerned, tactfully neglected to mention the whole army-attacking-the-castle bit.

"H-house-elves?" De Malfoie looked bewildered.

"Yes, house-elves. You should try them, they're quite efficient," said Rowena, "much better than human servants."

Lord Slytherin eyed their guest with suspicion, as though he expected the man before them to metamorphose into a Dementor. "Jasper," he said, turning to his son, "let the students out of the common rooms, would you? And get Peeves. I want him to take _notes._ And have him send out a team to retrieve and count the army. And the weapons, don't forget to keep track of those."

Jasper nodded and hurried away.

* * *

"Checkmate," said Helena, grinning widely.

"That's the third time she's beaten you, Julian," said Devlin, looking up from his Literacy assignment, a word search puzzle. "I think you'd better just give up."

"Oh, shut u-- what are _you_ doing here?" he sputtered, upon seeing his father enter the common room.

"You needn't sound so horrified. I came to rescue you," said his father. "They told me about your trick, sneaking out of the monastery," he added.

"But it was so _boring_ there!" protested Julian.

"Yeah!" said Helena. "Here he can lose to me at chess!"

Julian threw a pawn at her, and she ducked, sticking her tongue out. "I won _every game_ yesterday!" he told her.

"And thanks to you, I'm going to have to retrieve about a hundred of my men from the woods," Lord de Malfoie added nonchalantly.

"Do I _have_ to leave?" asked Julian. "I'm in the middle of a game here," he said, setting up the pieces again and grabbing the pawn back from Helena.

"It looked like you'd just finished," observed his father.

"Er..." said Julian, frozen for a moment. "Oh! We're playing the best out of three!" he invented, shooting a look at Helena that said, _Please play along?_

"That's all right," said his father. "You can stay here. Just -- be _good,_ and do your homework, and listen to Lady Ravenclaw, and be careful who you trust. Lots of commoners about, they'll probably try and steal everything you have."

At this, Devlin pretended to be in rapt contemplation of the wonders of the alphabet. "And eat your vegetables," he muttered to himself. Lord de Malfoie gave him a strange look, but let it pass.

"Er... how's Cassius?" asked Julian.

"He's doing very well in his training, from what I understand. I'm sure he will do admirably in my place," said Lord de Malfoie. Julian winced; his older brother was seemingly perfect in every way in the eyes of his father. "What kind of lunch do they serve in this place?" asked Lord de Malfoie.

"Oh, it's very good," said Julian. Devlin nodded, before remembering that he was supposed to be blending in. "They don't go all-out for normal lunches like they do at the feasts, of course, but it's still much better than -- it's. It's good. Er. Not that Aedelthryd is terrible or anything," he said hastily. He worried that perhaps his father would insist upon sitting next to him at lunch, so that Julian wouldn't get a chance to talk to anyone else, or even eat, but thankfully his father seemed quite content at the High Table, conveniently seated between Lady Ravenclaw and Master Slytherin.

* * *

Rowena picked at her food while Lord de Malfoie spoke hesitantly with Jasper. She noted Julian shooting anxious looks at his father from the student's table. Sending a disapproving glance at Helena, who was taking too many pieces of bread, she decided that she'd just have to work out some way to keep her mother at home.__

_I'll say we've all come down with dragon pox, and -- no, she's had that already, it wouldn't do any good... we've all got_ leprosy _\-- no, no, she'd_ insist _upon visiting so I could make a will... I know! We're preparing a very delicate enchantment that will keep the school from being destroyed -- No, she'd want to see how it worked so she could get around it..._

This would definitely require some thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salazar takes steps to prevent another incident like the one with Julian de Malfoie's Muggle father. Meanwhile, Rowena's tyrannical mother comes to visit.

"One hundred and twelve Muggle soldiers," said the goblin, "complete with weapons. All of the weapons could have been dismantled with a simple well-placed charm. In my assessment, sir, they were no danger to the castle."

"Thank you, Peeves," said Lord Salazar to the goblin. "Where is the Muggle staying?"

"I'm working on it, sir," the goblin said. "We can add a room in the South Tower, and..." he looked at his sheet of parchment, "...there's a disappearing bedroom he can use on the ground floor, near the entrance to the storage facilities."

"The dungeons, you mean?" asked Rowena with a frown.

"They are _not_ dungeons," explained Lord Salazar. "'Dungeons' implies torture devices and necromancy and shackles and chains. Dungeons," he continued with mild distaste, "are places for people to... to _dunge_ in. I will tolerate no dungeing in my castle."

"The Muggle thinks they're dungeons," piped up Peeves.

Lord Salazar thought about this for a second. "Put him on the ground floor. Don't bother to correct him."

"Yes sir," said Peeves, bowing and hurrying away.

"Lady Ravenclaw, may I have a word with you?" asked Lord Salazar. Rowena winced inwardly; she had known she would be in trouble for this, but she'd hoped to avoid it for as long as possible. "It was you who was responsible for Master de Malfoie's attendance at the school, was it not?"

"Well, I saw that he had talent, yes, but when his father said he couldn't, I left it at that," she explained. "I didn't realize he would work out how to get here -- he really _is_ a clever boy, my best student, in fact, and after five or ten years here learning magic, I wouldn't be surprised if he was at _least_ as good as any of the Wizards' Council brats who --"

"Be that as it may," said Lord Salazar, "I do not want a Muggle army pitted against the castle. Lord de Malfoie is _proof_ that the Muggles are clever enough -- or at least _determined_ enough - to get through that forest and Mistress Hufflepuff's trees."

"But that goblin, didn't he say that all of the weapons were susceptible to spells?"

"And how would you go about disarming _one hundred and twelve_ Muggles at a time?"

Rowena had to admit that she didn't really know how to answer that one -- not offhand, at any rate. "But Godric took care of it," she said, ignoring his question.

"Very well," said Lord Salazar, doubt present in his tone, "but next time, may I ask that you don't accept children from the Muggle nobility? The peasants have no real power -- I'm hardly worried about them -- but there are Muggles with more than just a hundred and twelve soldiers at their command. I know your family has collaborated with our, ah, present Muggle rulers in the past, but I'm not familiar enough with Muggle politics to trust them. Our situation here is too delicate to afford disruption from opportunistic forces we're unfamiliar with, and as the peace with the Muggles is sustained through mutual ignorance, it's uneasy enough as it is."

Rowena nodded glumly. There were some people she could afford to push around, but the landlord was not one of them.

* * *

Lord de Malfoie's small army had also made a difference in the day-to-day lives of the students. For one thing, there was now a password spell on each of the four common rooms and sets of dormitories, and students who had friends in other dormitories had to restrict their conversations to mealtimes. This was frankly irritating, as students were mainly assigned dormitories in accordance with which dormitory had had the most beds open at the time. For those in the Red Common Room, however, watching Professor Gryffindor try to remember his own passwords more than made up for the inconvenience.

Meanwhile, Lord Salazar was getting a case study on Muggle behavior from Peeves, who kept detailed notes on where de Malfoie went, whom he spoke with, what he said, and how he reacted to others. Rowena was the only one who had noticed the green-liveried goblin following the Muggle around, ink and quill in hand; she didn't think the other professors even knew much about Peeves at all, much less de Malfoie, but it was becoming evident that Lord Salazar was concerned about Muggle reactions to magic. She had given up scheming to keep her mother away from the school, and started instead on trying to discover a loophole in Lord Salazar's prohibition regarding students from the Muggle nobility. While her mother could be troublesome at times, Rowena could tolerate her if it meant she could get more students for the school.

She was gradually building up an argument against Salazar. Item One was the way Godric had handled the situation. If even an idiot like Godric could make a good impression on the Muggles, chances were _anyone_ could do it. Item Two was Lord de Malfoie, who showed consistently good behavior, even with the Venomous Tentacula, which had managed to put him in the hospital wing for a good four hours while Helga and Salazar argued over whether Venomous Tentaculas had glands or not. The man might be overly curious, but Rowena could hardly blame him for that -- after all, she was experimenting with dangerous Transfiguration, which wasn't even her specialty. There were, of course, flaws in her argument, and she needed more evidence, but how would she get evidence without more Muggle-born students? She would just have to sneak them in under Lord Salazar's nose.

* * *

Midwinter came and went, with Basil and Helga taking the Muggle-born students to a wizarding church in a small town nearby. They'd been doing this every Sunday, but the extra-long Christmas service was a special occasion, and when they returned, Rowena made sure the house-elves had prepared a large feast for the occasion. She didn't normally hold with the monotheists' holidays, and wouldn't have celebrated them even with a thousand rabid Muggles holding knives to her throat, but anyone who could stand around listening to Latin (which, she knew, most students didn't even understand) for that long in an unheated building deserved something special. Lord de Malfoie didn't seem to have noticed that some of the students were happily celebrating things like Sol Invictus instead. This was definitely good, as he hadn't commented on it. Hopefully it would make him look more accepting, and translate into a better report for Lord Salazar.

Meanwhile, she'd been making some progress on the _Voluma Animaguum_, which were more difficult than they looked. The original Animagi had seemed to enjoy making life difficult for those who sought to join them, so they explained things in terms of references to myths. Some, like the Greek myths Rowena had grown up with, were obvious, and the Roman myths were nearly as easy, because they had stolen everything from the Greeks. The Egyptian ones were, by far, the hardest, as Rowena had never been to Egypt before, and there was an alarming amount of references to Egyptian religion and culture in the _Scrolls_. She decided it was lucky they had been written in Latin and not hieroglyphics - the original group seemed to have originated in Egypt, from what she could tell.

Furthermore, her mother's visit was approaching quickly, and while Rowena knew that she had to be ready for it, she wasn't sure how she ought to prepare people. She knew there would be the inevitable conflict between her mother and Lord Salazar -- they would not, of course, say anything outright, but Lady Aeaeae was Chief of the Wizards' Council, a position Lord Salazar was widely known to desire. Rowena honestly wished he would get what he wanted, as she was never quite certain that her mother was an appropriate leader for the modern wizarding world, especially considering how awful her handwriting was. She was, however, undisputedly good at keeping her power, and those who wanted it tended to underestimate her gravely. Even Rowena did this at times. It had always been hard to separate the facade from the reality with her mother.

* * *

Lady Aeaeae arrived on a chilly spring day, Rowena's father in tow. Officially he was supposed to be _Lord_ Aeaeae, but he'd always been treated more as a consort than as a noble in his own right. After all, Aeaeae was _her_ name, not his. When Rowena opened the door to greet them, she had a large smile painted on her face. It would not do to wince in public.

"Rowena, dear, how _are_ you?" asked her mother.

Rowena shrugged. "Good, I suppose."

"Where are your friends?" she asked. "Dear, you do always have the _oddest_ friends, I'm glad you've met some nice people finally, even if they are all tied to that _snake._ Oh, and I've found another man you might be interested in."

In spite of herself, Rowena finally caved in to the pressure and winced. "_No,_" she said, frowning.

"No?"

"No," she repeated. "I'm not going to do this again."

"Rowena, dear, this one won't die on you," said her mother. "What's not to like?"

"Plenty of things," said Rowena. "For one, I don't even _know_ him!"

"You read too much," said her mother. "If I'd worried about silly things like that, your father and I would _never_ have married. Isn't that right, Gualterus?"

Lord Aeaeae blinked. "Of course, dear," he nodded.

"His hearing's worse," her mother said in a low voice. "He doesn't realize it yet."

"Are you two talking about me?" he asked, squinting with his watery eyes.

"Of course not, dear," said her mother, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She turned to Rowena. "Please, at least _think_ about it. It would keep --" she stopped and looked around, "-- _you know who,_ \--" she said significantly, gesturing around at the castle in general, "-- from being such an irritating pain in the -- Hello, Salazar! And has my Rowena been behaving?"

Lord Salazar greeted her mother cheerfully, as though she were a friend and not a bitter rival. Rowena hated their fake smiles and their fake emotions, and yet she couldn't help going along with it fake-cheerfully. Rowena preferred shouting matches to politicians' sugar-coated betrayals, and she wished, not for the first time, that she had been a second child and not an heir.

Helga and Basil entered, and her mother caught sight of them. "Helga! It's been so long since I've seen you!" She gave Helga a welcoming hug and smiled kindly at her. "And how have you been?"

"Very well, milady," said Helga politely, shooting a victorious glance at Rowena. _See, she's not all that bad!_ it said.

Rowena's mother then glanced warily at Basil, without actually seeing him, and 'tsk'ed. "I heard about the accident," she said, looking sympathetically at Helga. "You poor thing - you really _do_ deserve better, you know. There's no obligation to a betrothal when something like _that_ happens." She patted a dumbstruck Helga on the shoulder and turned back to Rowena. Helga, grinding her teeth, reached for her wand, but Basil grabbed her and pulled her out of the room before she could do anything. Rowena hoped the Silencing Charms on the walls would hold.

Before her mother could chatter for long, Godric poked his head in, looking confused. "What's that?" hissed her mother, stepping behind Rowena.

"Rowena," said Godric, "do you know why Helga's yelling? None of what she's saying is at _all_ suitable for students..."

"I don't know," she told him, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Perhaps she stubbed her toe? Mother, Father, this is Godric of Gryffindor, our Transfiguration professor."

"What?" asked her father loudly. Her mother, however, turned calculating eyes on Godric.

He shivered. "N-nice meeting you," he nodded with an _oh-please-don't-hurt-me_ smile. "I'll go... set the table, shall I?" He practically ran away.

"Gualterus, would you take those things to the room, dear?" her mother asked.

"Yes, very nice place," said her father gruffly, shuffling away holding the luggage. When he'd gone, mother looked at daughter. "_He's_ the one behind Thaddeus Fudge?" she asked in disbelief.

"I _know,_" said Rowena. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Why is he so skittish?"

Rowena shrugged. "I've no idea. He's always been terrified of everything."

"_Really?_" said her mother, a vampiric smile on her face.  "That's convenient."

"What is?" asked Rowena; not sure that she wanted to know.

"Nearly everyone on the Council agrees that the Glendowers have had far too many charges of necromancy. We're going to throw them out."

"Do you have enough support?" asked Rowena. The Wizards' Council had several different factions, and some members had private rivalries that caused them to side against anything their rival wanted, mainly out of spite.

"I've got the support of Muhammed al-Aziz _and_ Ari ben Shlomo!" Lady Aeaeae said enthusiastically, as though announcing that the world was now forever free of problems. "You know they've never agreed on anything practically since I took office."

Rowena looked impressed, but felt confused. "What's the point, though?"

"There have _always_ been thirteen houses represented in the Council -- we'll have to appoint another one, and at the moment, the most likely man for it is Thaddeus Fudge. But if it were _somehow_ discovered that he was, in fact, _not_ the best Transfigurator in the world, the real Transfigurator would almost certainly be up for consideration."

"But -- _Mother!_ Godric doesn't even look _human!_"

"Is he?"

"Yes, but that's not the _point!_ He's -- and even if they knew -- well, his parents were _Muggles,_ Mum!"

"They'd overlook that if he had a well-born wife. And _you_ are the best-born, Rowena. You could control him easily -- the poor boy's obviously not the brightest candle on the chandelier."

"All right, Mother, putting aside the unpleasant aesthetics, let's look at this logically, shall we? I couldn't control him at all!" said Rowena. "Firstly, he's possibly the _dullest_ candle on the chandelier. He's clumsy -- dangerously so -- and he'd probably forget his own name if someone didn't write it on the insides of his clothes or something."

"Use Imperius," said her mother with a shrug.

"He's a _Transfigurator,_ Mum. He's _stubborn_ and _powerful!_"

"And Enchanters are lazy and overconfident," said her mother, a small smile on her face. As a specialist in Charms, Rowena was an Enchantress. There were a lot of things written about the various personality types and humours and astrological signs associated with people skilled in certain sorts of magic, most of them at least mildly contradictory. "But you don't seem to be overconfident. And _he's_ not stubborn."

"He may not be, but _I_ am!" said Rowena. "I will _not_ marry him. That's -- just -- no." She'd had quite enough of marriage. Once was enough.

"Well, all right, then. I only want you to be happy, dear," said her mother sweetly.__

_Come, now, Mother, surely you want more than that,_ thought Rowena. Aloud, she said "I'm _happy!_ I'm _very happy!_"

"You don't _sound_ happy," said her mother, her face a mask of concern.

"She has a point, there," said Godric.

Rowena nearly had a heart attack when she realized that he was standing behind them, regarding them placidly. He had a mildly annoyed expression on his face. "Godric! Aren't you supposed to be setting the table?"

"The house-elves have already done it," he said, shrugging.

"Gods, Godric, you're as silent as a cat! You could have _said_ something."

"What am I, a leper?" he asked angrily. "Do I have to shout 'Unclean!' wherever I go? When I heard you talking about Fudge, I was going to explain about the whole set-up, until you started talking about me as though I wasn't here. And then I thought, why not stay and listen?" He shrugged. "But then you went on to whether or not Rowena was happy. Frankly, I don't think she really cares whether she is or not, as long as no one else is, but that's really none of my business, is it? So I said something." Rowena opened her mouth, but he went on. "I think you should make her marry Jasper. They _deserve_ each other."

Her mother blinked. "That might work..." she said slowly.

"No," said Rowena stubbornly.

"If we played it right..." she mused.

"_I_ think we should head to dinner, _shouldn't_ we, Mum?" asked Rowena through clenched teeth. She was going to _kill_ Godric.

* * *

Dinner was an ordeal, but, as they say, every cloud has a silver lining. Rowena supposed that this one's had been filched and replaced with a cheap copper one, if indeed there was such a thing.

Her mother, for one, was going endlessly on about the latest architectural marvels, making snide comments about the construction of the castle to Lord Salazar. Lord de Malfoie, by some heartless madman's design, had been seated on her other side. He was looking increasingly frightened and kept trying to edge away. Helena was bragging loudly about how _her_ grandmother was _Chief_ of the _Council_ and wasn't that _nice?_

About halfway through the feast, Basil tapped Rowena on the shoulder and hissed, "Help! She's gone _mad!_"

For a second, Rowena thought that he meant her mother, and was going to reply that, yes, in fact, she'd _always_ been that way. Then she saw Helga sitting at the other side of the table, unmoving, unblinking, and glaring fiery hatred at a battle-axe someone had unwisely hung from the wall.

"What do you mean?" she asked Basil.

"Good Lord, I'd think even _you'd_ be able to see it," he said.

She'd known that Basil could see magic, as a werewolf, but it was always a bit strange to be reminded of it. She shook her head, then fished her well-worn aura lens out of her pocket.

Upon further inspection through the lens, she found that Helga was aiming a jet of butter-colored magic at the axe with her wand concealed under the table. It was being blocked by an ungodly amount of red, scattered all over the place in a dreadfully inefficient way.

Rowena looked at Godric, who was sitting at the other end of the table. He didn't seem to be eating, but he didn't have a wand, either. She could see that he hadn't touched a bit of his food. He was staring at the axe as though hypnotized. The lens showed that he was radiating enough magic to burn the castle down. She itched to go and correct him for every little thing he'd been doing wrong, preferably in red ink. Instead she turned to Basil again. "Don't you have your wand?"

He shrugged. "Who brings their wand to dinner unless they're trying to kill people?"

"I do," she said. She brought her wand _everywhere._ "Distract her!" she told Basil. "I'll make sure it doesn't overbalance. And after that, we're quite finished with this Sword of Damocles business."

Basil thought for a moment, then poured a glass of wine over Helga's head. Rowena, meanwhile, concentrated on compensating for Godric's fierce hold on the axe. After several seconds, it was all over. Rowena quickly cast a rather strong Fixing Charm on the thing, so that Helga couldn't do anything to it, and for extra measure she reinforced it with some of the red magic. Godric wouldn't miss it.

"What are you doing?" Jasper hissed. Rowena handed him the aura-lens, and he gasped as he saw the aftermath of all the magic.

"When is she leaving?" asked Helga, voice shaking with anger. Her dress now had dark purple-red stains on it, as did the tablecloth, and there was a small handprint in the same color on the front of Basil's tunic.

"As soon as is humanly possible," sighed Rowena.

"What's going _on?_" asked Jasper.

"Do you _know_ what they'd do to you if they found out you'd tried to assassinate the _Chief_ of the Wizards' Council?" Basil whispered fiercely.

"What?" Jasper asked, voice inconveniently loud. "Who tried to -- mmph!" Rowena had just stuck a roll in Jasper's mouth -- she did not want 'them' to do _anything_ to Helga, as she felt assassination attempts were fairly reasonable when dealing with her mother.

"They send you to the Isle of Drear! Or worse yet, Azkab Island!" Jasper had a coughing fit as Basil continued. "Do _you_ want to spend your life dodging Hairy MacBoons and Dementors? Because _I_ certainly don't, and my specialty is dealing with horrors like that."

Helga shook her head. "Basil, dear, _you_ wouldn't have to deal with them. They'd only send _me_ to Drear. Really, I think you're overreacting." She smiled sweetly, then shot an approximation of the Evil Eye at Lady Aeaeae.

"But --" started Basil. He was interrupted by Jasper, who had finally dealt with the roll.

"Really, you _still_ call them Hairy MacBoons? There's no reason to believe the stories -- they should be called by their _accurate_ name. They're _Quintapeds._"

"Excuse me," said Basil, "but I do believe I'm the expert on this particular subject. Besides, what kind of a name is 'Quintaped?'"

"It means 'five legs,' which you'd know if you had any knowledge of --"

"You can kill _them,_" Rowena told Helga. "They've just proven themselves to be incapable of concentrating when there's a fight to be had."

"...slang which has never been accepted," Jasper was saying, "and furthermore --"

"This one's rather sweet, though," said Helga, pointing at Basil, who was arguing his case at the top of his lungs, with a ferocity equal to any Hairy MacBoon.

"The thing to remember is not to name them," said Rowena. "Otherwise you risk getting attached to them.

At Rowena's pronouncement, Basil and Jasper stopped arguing and looked horrified at the two women.

"N-name them?" asked Jasper. "Why would you want to name them?"

"What _would_ you name one? Harry?" asked Basil

"Quirinus!" Jasper countered.

"_Quirinus?_ That's the stupidest name I've ever heard!" Basil said.

Helga put her face in her hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The professors of Hogwarts plot ways of getting Rowena's mother, the Chief of the Wizards' Council, to _go away and leave them alone._

It was nearing May, and Lady Aeaeae had not yet seen fit to leave.  Rowena had brought the subject up numerous times, but each time it had been brushed off with a calculated distraction. It was becoming obvious that her ladyship not only wanted to keep an eye on her daughter, but also on Lord Salazar, her rival in the Council.  But Lady Aeaeae's activities did not stop at observation.  Recently, she had rearranged all the books in the library by size and color, insulted a staircase, and changed the Blue Common Room's password three times because she didn't like the way it was pronounced.  She was becoming a nuisance.

Rowena spoke first at the monthly staff meeting.  "We need to make her leave."  They all knew which 'her' she referred to.  "Any suggestions?"

Helga raised a hand.  Rowena pointedly ignored it.  "Anyone?"

Lord Salazar cleared his throat.  "I could call a meeting of the Council," he said.  "We'd have to go to all the way to Rome, and the Glendower issue could even be cleared up by the end of the month."

Godric blanched.  It seemed that in his opinion, the Glendower issue was best left untreated.  "No," said Rowena hurriedly, imagining Godric stuttering and pale in front of the Council, "with all due respect, sir, that would only get her away temporarily.  We need something permanent, or at least as close to permanent as possible."

"We could feed her to the Venomous Tentacula," said Helga.  "That'd be permanent."

"No," said Rowena.

"_I_ could feed her to the Venomous Tentacula."

"No."

"Someone _else_ could feed her to the Venomous Tentacula."

"No."

"I thought you said it wasn't dangerous," said Godric.

"I lied," Helga said, grinning.  "Besides, what's life without a little danger?"

"Longer?" Godric asked.

"He's got a point," said Rowena.  "Oh, that reminds me, there've been some... botany-related complaints."  She rolled her eyes at Godric, who shrugged.  "Lord Salazar, Helga, could we set up a due date for Whomping Willow removal?"

"But -- but -- the Muggles!" said Helga.  "If anything, we need _more_ Willows!"

"She's trying to take over the world with them," said Basil skeptically.

"Come, my minion!  Help me brainwash them!" said Helga, ruining the effect by poking Basil in the shoulder.

"You _can't_ take over the world with _plants!_" Basil insisted.

"I can _try,_" said Helga grumpily.

"A_hem,_" said Rowena.  "Can we save the take-over of the world for _later?_  You have significant competition from my mother."

Lord Salazar snorted.  "The Council is hardly the world, milady.  Those on the Council have no more power over the common wizard than you or I have over the students.  We may ask the children to be quiet while we are speaking or to write this essay on that subject by a certain date, but we cannot force them to obey us any more than the Wizard's Council may enforce its petty laws on basilisk breeding and interspecies trade."

Rowena blinked.  It was, quite possibly, the longest speech she had ever managed to get out of Lord Salazar, and by far the most enlightening.  Though there was no official leader at the staff meetings, by all rights Salazar was the one who should have the authority, being the oldest and the only one with a high-ranking governmental position.  Yet Rowena always seemed to preside over the meetings.  She wondered why he let her do that -- if he wanted Lady Aeaeae's secret schemes, he wasn't going to get them from her.  Ophelia Aeaeae trusted her daughter less than anyone, save a trained assassin or two.

"That was a very interesting speech, sir," said Rowena quickly.  "Will you be giving it to the Council?"

"Certainly not," he said with mild distaste.  "No one on the Council has ever attempted to teach twenty-three eleven-year-olds how to brew wart remover.  The concept of 'work,' especially _home_work, is far too distant for them, I fear."

"That's an idea," said Basil.  "We could make Lady Aeaeae teach a class if she wants to stay any longer.  She wouldn't want to waste her time by actually _doing_ something for a change."

"It's a start," said Rowena, "but what would she teach?"

"Why, napkin folding, of course," said Helga.  "Why do you even have to ask?"

"She's never folded a napkin in her life," said Rowena.  "That's what house-elves are for."

"House-elf directing, then," said Helga.  "Make something up.  Divination.  Snail racing.  Gossip-mongering."

"Book-arranging," said Rowena.  "If I think of anything that sounds legitimate, we'll go with it, but offhand I don't think any of those could possibly be of practical use to anyone.  What about you, Godric?  Are you just going to sit there whining about trees or do you have anything useful to add to this meeting?"

"No," he said, "I'm here to whine.  Besides, she's _your_ mother.  You work out what to do with her.  I don't care if she stays here until Lucifer is kind enough to come and take her back."

Rowena perceived some insult in his speech, but wasn't sure what it was.  She shrugged it off.  "Very well, then," she said.  "We shall, as Godric says, wait until Lucifer takes her back, whoever this Lucifer might be," she added, frowning.  "Does anyone wish to discuss something else at this meeting?"

"The Muggles," said Helga.  "How did they get through my Willows?  None of them were harmed at all, thankfully, but I should think they'd prevent an army from attacking.  They nearly circle the castle, after all!"

Rowena shrugged.  "You should ask Lord de Malfoie himself, unless Lord Salazar wishes to enlighten us.  He may know."  She watched Lord Salazar out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a reaction of some sort.

"I don't know at all," said Lord Salazar, looking quite innocent.  "It's rather vexing.  Perhaps the defenses of the forest prepared them for your trees?  And as to the issue of removing them," he said to Rowena, "I agree with Mistress Hufflepuff in that they should certainly be kept until further notice; Muggle armies are known to be savage, even with the admittedly crude weapons they use."

"I've changed my mind," Godric announced.  "I'm going with what he said."  He jabbed a finger at Lord Salazar.  "I don't want to be sent out there for _another_ army.  If they hadn't run away when they did, I think _I_ might've run.  And de Malfoie nearly slit my throat before I let him in."

"Then why did you let him in?" asked Rowena.

Godric shrugged.  "What was I supposed to do, say 'Go away!' and shut the door in his face?"

Rowena sighed, for that had been exactly what Godric was supposed to do.  She couldn't exactly berate him for it, though, because good had come from it.  "All right, we'll keep the trees as long as they don't hurt anybody other than Muggles.  Does anyone have anything else to bring up?"

There was silence.

"Meeting adjourned," said Rowena with an informal wave of her hand.  "I'll go and tell Jasper about the new class so he can recalculate all the timetables."  She left the room without another word.

After climbing what seemed like an infinite number of stairs, she came to the final flight.  She rested on the landing for a moment, waiting for the Arithmancy class to finish.  There was a small window here, just under the top of the tower, and as she looked out onto the grounds she saw the huge forest, the Whomping Willows that circled the castle, and the large lake that interrupted the circle of trees.  It was a very nice view, even now when the sky was grey and the trees bare.  Students began coming down the stairs, chattering to each other as they walked, some carrying thick rolls of parchment and abacuses under their arms.  Most of them nodded or waved at her as they passed.  When they had gone, presumably off to Potions in the dungeons (or were they 'storage facilities'?) below, Rowena continued on to the classroom at the top of the tower.

She knocked sharply on the thick wooden door, which opened almost immediately.  Jasper blinked when he saw her, but she pushed him aside, stepping into the room.

"We will be adding a new class to the curriculum shortly," she said, sitting down on a student's desk.  "Can you fit it in?  You can take time out of the other classes, but be sure not to make it more than ten minutes per class.  And don't shorten the time given for students to travel between classes," she added.  "This is a large castle and students need time to find their ways around.  Especially with those moving staircases we added.  Can you do that?" she asked.

"What?  What's the class?" asked Jasper, looking utterly bewildered.

"We don't know yet," Rowena told him.

"But -- but who's teaching it?  Which students are taking it?  When is this effective by?  How long --"

"My mother is teaching it and I've no idea what it will entail except that it must be very irritating to her.  Put it as near as you can to breakfast -- she's not a morning person --"

"Are you trying to get rid of her, then?" asked Jasper, with great interest.  "Because I can adjust the wards momentarily --"

"No, no, I want her to stay away from here under pain of extreme annoyance," said Rowena.  "I don't want her to be driven away by spells."

"All right, I'll see what I can do," he said.  He was silent for a moment, as if expecting her to leave.  When she didn't, he nodded his head hopefully at her.  "Is there anything else?"

"I would like you to make some wards for me," she said.

"Wards?"

"Yes, you know, those things that are _supposed_ to keep armies out, but don't?  The things we were discussing several seconds ago?"

Jasper looked hurt.  "They don't keep _Muggle_ armies out.  Besides, there's only so much Muggle-repellent charms can do.  Muggles simply don't _exist_ to most wards.  Why don't you ask your pet werewolf to make wards for you, if mine are so horrible?" he said grumpily.

"Because it's not Basil's week for wards -- and he's not _my_ pet werewolf, he's Helga's," she said.  "I only need wards against one person -- Godric.  He's been turning my classroom upside-down lately, and all evidence suggests he enjoys teaching morning classes."

"How exactly has he been causing trouble?"

"I told you," she said impatiently.  "He's been turning the classroom upside-down.  Once he turned it sideways," she added helpfully.

"With some sort of matrix spell?" he asked hopefully.  "I can block those with a --"

"I'm afraid not," she said sadly.  "Very strong glue.  He is hopelessly Mugglish."

"All right," said Jasper.  "Come up to my office and sit down -- I'll need to write things down, anyway."  He waved his wand at a spot on the floor, causing a spiral staircase to emerge from it, climbing up to a trapdoor in the ceiling.  Jasper ascended the staircase, stopping halfway up to wait for her.  She followed after a moment, leaving the dusty Arithmancy classroom behind.

They emerged into a room with a stained-glass skylight of geometric patterns.  The cold winter sunlight dimly illuminated a small round room, surprisingly warm, and filled with equal proportions of scribbled-on parchments and leatherbound books.  Distributed with the same regularity as stars in the night sky were tiny orbs of light of various colors, contained in what seemed to be glass.  A scale model of the castle sat on one side of the room, while on the other was a battered wooden cabinet full of quills, inks, and more of the strange globes of light, including a clear glass bulb that was apparently waiting to be filled.  When both of Rowena's feet had left the stairway, the trapdoor snapped shut and melted into the rest of the floor.  She saw that a huge pentagram had been built into the floor.

Rowena looked around the room with raw avarice.  Jasper grinned naively at her wonder - she supposed he thought she was impressed, and she was, to a degree, but Rowena was not one to stay impressed for long.  _I want it!_ said a little voice in her head.  She ignored it and tried to look bored, but it was impossible -- what _were_ the little glass balls? -- and there were so many books!  _She_ didn't have _most_ of those books.  How _dare_ he own books that she didn't have?  The sheer impudence of it was astonishing.

"What's this?" Rowena asked, pointing at the tiny castle, and without waiting for a response, ran over to it and reached down to take one of the tower roofs off, as though it were a dollhouse.

"Don't touch that!" said Jasper, running over to pull her away from it.  "It's an experiment in sympathetic magic -- very delicate -- don't even _breathe _on it.  Sit down over _there,_" he added, pointing his wand at the farthest point of the pentagram, where a cushioned stool suddenly popped out of the floor.  Rowena hung back to examine the model.  Now she could see that there were little tiny people moving about inside the castle: there was Helga in her greenhouse scolding the Tentacula (it looked as though it'd eaten another cat) and Godric was lost in the forest again.  She wondered what would happen if she put her hand in front of the little figure representing Godric as she had sometimes done with ants crawling back to their nests; would the real Godric notice, and how would it affect him if he did?

She opened her mouth to ask Jasper, but then remembered she should be in and out of this room as quickly as possible.  This was, after all, Jasper Slytherin, the patronizing one.  Reluctantly, she sat down at the far side of the room.  "What's it for?" she contented herself with asking.

"It controls the wards," said Jasper.

"Surely there's an easier way," said Rowena.

"Well, yes, but this one's more _interesting_," said Jasper helplessly.  "But what's this about wards?"

"Oh.  Yes," she said, "the wards.  I only want them to keep Godric out -- none of the students should be prevented from coming to see me if they need to speak to me."

"And your classroom is on the third floor?"

"Yes, it's at the end of the corridor that opens into the oubliette," confirmed Rowena.

"Ah, yes, the oubliette," said Jasper, nodding.  "There's actually a whole series of rooms in that oubliette; quite a pity we can't use them for anything, since we don't have anybody to ouble."  Jasper grabbed a spare piece of parchment and wrote something on it.  "Do you want just a simple facial-recognition block, or something more complex?"

"I don't want _just_ a facial-recognition spell -- he might use some sort of invisibility spell," said Rowena, "though I don't know who he'd get it from.  He's _awful_ at normal spells.  It would be best if you did the facial-recognition _and_ blocked things over ten feet tall.  If one doesn't work the other can take over."

"What _is_ he, anyway?" asked Jasper.

"I don't know," said Rowena, frowning as though all was not right with the world.  After all, she ought to know everything.  "I mean, well, he's human.  He's _Muggleborn._  That might have something to do with it, I don't know all that much about Muggles.  But he used to be short!  And his aura's clearly human, but there's funny magic shot through his bones, like someone put a spell on him and then it faded away."

"Funny magic?" Jasper sounded curious.

"It's not human -- elvish, perhaps.  The closest I've seen to it was house-elf magic, but this is much wilder and it has a savage, hungry sort of edge to it.  No decent house-elf would be running around with that magic.  Quite odd."  Anyone else would have asked her how magic could be _hungry_, or have any edge to it at all, but Jasper simply nodded.

"It's too bad we can't just make the wards keep that sort of magic out," he said.  "Of course, if we don't know what it is...."  He frowned.  "Now, if you'll just answer a few more questions, I can have them set up by tomorrow."

"All right," said Rowena.  "What do you need to know?"

* * *

Godric stomped up several more staircases than any reasonable building needed.  He wanted to get to his common room quickly so that he could light a nice big fire and unfreeze his blood.  He'd spent several hours in the forest, pretending not to hear its creatures' eerie noises, and trying to find out where Lord de Malfoie and his army had come from.  Lord Slytherin seemed to be worried about it -- he apparently had no faith in his son's wards -- and Godric, being the only professor who had ever known how to survive without magic, had been sent out to go and find any paths through the forest that would be relatively safe for a Muggle army.  Godric had ascertained that no army could pass through the forest without being noisy enough to be eaten by things like the notorious Grendel and his mother.  It was only common sense.  But, he thought bitterly as he stopped at the doorway to work out what his password was, nobody listened to him, because he was the big stupid one who'd been hired to move furniture and drive armies away.  He wasn't _allowed _to have common sense.

This, combined with Godric's total lack of directional sense, had got him very lost for several hours.  Oh yes, and he could have sworn he'd seen a giant hand in the sky somewhere... best not to think about that, though.  Probably just a cloud.__

Godric suddenly remembered what the password was, and the door swung open.  He ducked inside and knelt on the floor to light the fireplace.  With a quick poke from his wand and a muttered spell, a warm, crackling flame rose from the logs.

Godric closed his eyes for a moment.  He thought perhaps he should just drift off to sleep right now, but he shook his head to stay awake.  Missing a hot dinner was not in his plans at the moment.

He saw something move out of the corner of his eye, and, twisting around to see what it was, he detected a small, long-nosed figure dressed all in green.  A goblin.  He hated goblins more than Jasper hated werewolves.  Godric was not a hateful person by nature, but he loathed goblins with a vengeance that anyone who knew him would have been astonished at.

With an almost inhuman roar, he grabbed the goblin by the throat and stood, bringing it up to eye level as he did so.  "Who sent you?" he demanded of it.

It looked down nervously, and, realizing it was being suspended twelve feet above the ground, ceased struggling.

"It was Rowena, wasn't it?  She's mad -- bringing goblins into a school -- do you have a name?  ...probably only speaks Gobbledegook," he muttered, disgusted.

"P-peeves, sir," it squeaked.  "A-and I don't belong to Lady Ravenclaw, and I didn't mean any harm, and I'll leave immediately, sir, if it suits you."

"It does not suit me," Godric said.  "You're coming with me," he added.

"I can't breathe!" it whined.

"Get used to it," he growled.  Keeping a tight hold on the goblin he left the room, the warmth of the fire forgotten.

* * *

Rowena sat in her classroom; a book propped up by a bottle of ink on her desk.  She leaned forward to turn the page, and inspected the colorful illuminated 'D' at the beginning of the paragraph, which showed a knight and a dragon in combat.  She grinned as the dragon shot orange flames, and the knight realized that his metal armor was an excellent conductor of heat.  Jasper was actually not all that bad, she decided, although he did have far too many delicate experiments in his study.  He was, at the very least, intelligent, a fact which far outweighed many of his bad qualities.  Although, she thought, frowning, he knew more than she did on certain subjects.  She skimmed the paragraph at the top of the page, which was detailing the exploits of particularly foolhardy Muggles and what had been done to get rid of them.

Godric burst into the room, eyes wild with some illogical rage.  She couldn't _wait_ until Jasper's wards were done.  She sighed.  "What?" she snapped.

"Why are there goblins running around this castle?" he demanded, holding up his fist.  In it was clenched a terrified Peeves, who had shut his eyes tightly and was muttering something very rude in Gobbledegook.

"There's only one that I've ever seen, and he's not mine, he's Lord Salazar's.  Ask him."

"How do you know there's only one?" asked Godric.  "What are goblins doing at a school?  Isn't that dangerous?"

Rowena rolled her eyes.  "Really, Godric, you're afraid of everything!  Goblins, armies --"

"Fear of armies is perfectly sensible," Godric interrupted.

"-- carnivorous plants, heights..." continued Rowena.  Godric turned bright red at the mention of his long-standing fear of heights, but said nothing.  "Is there anything you're _not_ afraid of?"

Godric scratched his head and frowned.

"Never mind," she said.  "Put that down," she snapped.

Godric obediently placed Peeves on her desk.  "I'm not afraid of ...rocks," he said sullenly.

"Congratulations," she told him.  "Now go away."

"And I'm not afraid of you, either," he continued boldly.

"What a pity," said Rowena.  "_Petrificus totalus,_" she added, enunciating the spell carefully for his benefit.  Godric fell backwards onto the cold stone floor.  "Righteous anger makes people do foolish things," she said conversationally to Peeves, who looked as though he might bolt at any minute.  "Why don't you give me your notes," she asked, "and I'll let you go before I let him go."

"I can't," said the goblin, backing away from her.

"I won't do anything to them," said Rowena, "I just want to read them."

"No, you don't understand," said Peeves, grabbing his scroll as though it might run away.  "I can't let you -- I'm under orders --" He backed up even more and, with a frightened squeak, toppled right off the desk onto the chair.

"I'll take that," she said, forcing his hand open.  A tormented wail cut through the quiet classroom, and she looked back at the goblin, who was screaming as though a thousand red-hot pokers were burning him up.  Appalled, she Stupefied the goblin, but he continued to whimper in pain, even when he was unconscious.

_He must be under a spell,_ she thought_, otherwise he'd do something _useful _like try to take it back from me.  If I had a servant like this, I wouldn't make disobedience so painful.  Well, I'll just wipe his memory afterwards.  I hope he forgets.  _She was still troubled, but she quickly scanned through Peeves' notes anyway.  After changing several words so that they would give Lord Salazar a slightly more favorable impression, she rolled up the scroll, put it in the goblin's hand (at which point he stopped squealing) and Obliviated him.  Then she leaned him against the wall just outside her classroom and woke him up.  Leaving the disoriented goblin, she returned to the classroom, waited for a few moments by the door to make sure Peeves had left, then performed the counter curse to the spell on Godric.  He sat up, looking quite grumpy.

"I suppose you're going to wipe _my_ memory as well?"

"Nonsense.  You haven't got enough memory to wipe.  You'd forget everything."

"What was in that scroll?" he demanded.

"None of your business."

"You changed things in it -- it certainly is my business," said Godric stubbornly.

"I don't really see the logic in your argument.  Get out of here, Godric, or I'll turn you into dogmeat."

"I didn't know you had a dog," he said thoughtfully.  "What sort of dog is it?  What's its name?"

She glared at him.  Godric, she realized, had the attention span of a two-year-old when it came to most things.

"Oh.  That wasn't the point, was it?" he asked.

"His name's Rex.  He's a hunting dog and he's not mine," said Rowena for some absurd reason.

Godric looked as though he were starting to question Rowena's sanity.  "I'll just be going now," he said, edging towards the door.  When he reached it he hurried out, having forgotten completely about goblins and scrolls.

Rowena glared after him.  _Dogmeat.  I should have turned them both into dogmeat._

* * *

"Look, Mother," said Rowena soon afterwards, walking to dinner with her mother, "I think maybe you should... er, be on your way. After all, won't they be missing your guidance at home?"

"Nonsense, dear, no one ever misses me," Lady Aeaeae told her daughter, dismissing her concerns with a wave of the hand.  "Oh, this castle is _so_ draughty.  Shoddy construction, that's the only explanation.  Either that or he's drilled little holes in all the stone to spy on everyone."

"I doubt it," said Rowena, thinking of Peeves.  "Anyway, as I was saying --"

"Would you _look _at that?  He still has those little thin arrow-shooting windows!  Ha!  Just like a Muggle castle!  How _silly._"

"Mother," Rowena said, "as I was _saying _\--"

"Does anyone in this castle even know _how_ to shoot a bow?"

"No, Mother, but I'm sure Basil --"

"Oh, and how is poor Helga holding up under the strain?"

"Admirably," said Rowena, though she didn't tell her mother which particular strain she was talking about.

"It's an awful thing to happen, isn't it?  She really does deserve better than that, but the poor girl's always been so _honorable._  It's a fault I'm glad to say you never did acquire, dear," she told Rowena, who wondered how that could possibly be considered a compliment.

_I would very much _like_ to prove her wrong,_ she said to herself.  _Why can't I?  There must be something horribly wrong with me. _ "I suppose I haven't," she said.  "Anyway, she seems quite happy with Basil.  I don't see why she shouldn't be.  It's her choice, after all.  As I was saying before we --"

"It may be her choice, dear, but I don't think you should _let_ her do such dangerous things."

Her mother, Rowena reflected, evidently had no idea what the word 'choice' meant.  She sighed -- this conversation was going nowhere -- and as a last-ditch attempt to get back on topic, said, "Well, before I was so rudely interrupted --"

"_I_ was the one who interrupted you, dear, and it's not very nice to call your own mother 'rude,'" said Lady Aeaeae.  "Besides, I'm a guest at the castle.  I deserve to be treated with _some_ courtesy."

_No you don't,_ her daughter thought.  "Well," said Rowena, "that's what I'm getting at --"

"Oh, here we are," said her mother as they came to the doors of the Great Hall.  "I _must_ go and talk to Lord Salazar -- he doesn't agree with me on some things yet."

"I can't think why not," said Rowena to herself as she watched her mother walk away.  She felt someone jab her in the shoulder, and turned to see Jasper.  "Don't do that," said Rowena.

"Did you tell her about the class?" he hissed.

"No," said Rowena.

"Good.  There's just no way it will fit evenly into the school day," Jasper said.

"There isn't?  Why not?"

"Time distortions in the castle.  The architecture makes it a slightly different time of day everywhere, with differences of up to ten minutes.  There's no way the new class would work."

"Is _that_ why I'm late to lunch all the time?" she asked, suddenly understanding.  "And I thought it was poor planning on my part.  How should we drive her away?"

"I've taken care of that," said Jasper.  "I hope you don't mind -- I couldn't ask anyone for permission and now I can't really undo it."

"That's all right," said Rowena.  "As long as she leaves this castle alive, I will be quite content."  At this, Jasper looked worried, but she ignored it.  "By the way, what _is _your father's horrid little goblin up to?  Godric caught him in his common room, went completely mad, and barged into _my_ classroom as though I'd done something wrong."

"Peeves, you mean?" asked Jasper.  "There's nothing wrong with Peeves," he said defensively.

"There is _plenty_ wrong with Peeves," said Rowena.

"Peeves is so _useful,_" said Jasper.  "He's very good at stealing things, and he can get into any room of the castle without a password."

"You know," said Rowena conversationally, "you're all mad, aren't you?  There's something in the water here.  I assumed before that I was the only sane one in the castle, but now I'm beginning to question even that."

Jasper pondered this for a moment.  "They say that if you question your sanity, you're sane," he said.  "But if you've heard that, you're _assured _that you're sane.  That means you're no longer questioning your sanity, which opens up the possibility of madness.  So you have to question your sanity again.  Which leads to the inevitable assurance of sanity.  That makes it possible --"

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," ordered Rowena.  "And uncross your eyes."

He nodded, and went to sit down.  She sat at the table between Helga and Basil, preferring to silently wonder what Jasper had meant when he said 'I've taken care of that,' rather than take part in the discussion.  It seemed to be about Quintapeds again, only this time it was their eating habits.

"They're fighting again," muttered Helga.  "How do I make them stop?"

"Feed them to your plants," suggested Rowena.  "That's permanent, mind you."

Helga stuck her tongue out.

Rowena overheard Lord Salazar speaking to her mother.  "Well, Lady Aeaeae, have you been enjoying your visit to the school so far?"

"I have not," said Lady Aeaeae.  Rowena turned in astonishment to watch -- she had to see _this. _ Her mother was speaking with an even more astonished expression on her face.  "In fact," she continued, speaking unwillingly, "it is embarrassing how much nicer this castle is than mine.  Furthermore, Rowena refuses to cooperate with me on any plans I might have, and you, sir, are an arrogant fool."  She stopped speaking, merely staring in amazement.  Then a cruel smile crossed her face.  "How much did you bribe the workers to keep silent about the design of _your_ castle?"

"I didn't bribe them," said Lord Salazar.  "I wiped all their memories completely and sent them into the forest.  They were probably eaten by Rodents of Unusual Size."  There was an uneasy silence.  Then Salazar stood up and leveled an angry glare at the rest of the table.  "All right!" he said, looking livid.  "Who put the Veritaserum in the soup?"

"I told you I'd taken care of it," said Jasper matter-of-factly.  No one else had heard him -- everyone, including the students, had started looking around, asking 'Did _you_ have the soup?'  This was further confused by the fact that there were three different kinds of soup and Lord Salazar hadn't indicated which one the potion was in.  But Rowena decided right then that it didn't matter if Jasper was mad, or hated werewolves, or, in fact, if he was willing to sell his soul for a bottle of Butterbeer and a cheap Veela.

She grinned at him.  "You put Veritaserum in the soup?  You are _evil._"

He blushed.  "Actually, it's only in _their_ soup," he said.  "And I _had_ to," he added modestly.  "The extra class didn't fit into the timetables.  I had no other choice!"

Basil, overhearing this, stepped forward.  "I should congratulate you," he said earnestly, reaching out to shake Jasper's hand.  "Even if you _are _a smug, biased git, who's wrong about everything," he added, just to make sure he wasn't being too agreeable.

Jasper blinked in shock, then looked both ways to make sure no one was watching before punching Basil in the face.  Basil's expression was more of surprise than of pain, and he soon recovered enough to retaliate.

Meanwhile, Salazar was taking full advantage of this situation.  "What passwords do you need to get into the Council War Room?" he was asking Lady Aeaeae, who had stuck her fingers into her ears and began to chant 'I can't hear you!  I can't hear you!' before he finished the question.

In short, the Great Hall was in total chaos.  Godric stood up, conscientiously but hopelessly trying to keep everything from self-destructing.

"What are you doing?" he shouted at Jasper and Basil.  "Stop!"  He pulled them away from each other, holding each by the front of the robes.  "How old are you two, anyway?  Four?  Most of the _students_ are better behaved than you!" he snapped.  "Do you think it'll make you _right_ if you strangle him?  Because I know well enough that I am _frequently_ wrong, and I can strangle both of you."  Basil cringed; Jasper merely folded his arms and looked haughty -- a very odd sight indeed on someone hanging by the neck of his robes.  Annoyed, he dumped the two of them on the floor.

"That's right," cackled Lady Aeaeae.  "Send him to bed without dinner!"  She had taken her fingers out of her ears in response to Lord Salazar poking her in the arm with a dull knife.

"And you two!" said Godric, turning on the two Council members.  "You're supposed to be concerned with matters of government!  And for God's sake, put that down!"  He grabbed the knife Lord Salazar was now nervously fiddling with and drove it halfway into the wooden table, where it stuck.  "You've got more control than _kings_ in this world, from what _I've_ seen, and what do you do?  You bicker like children, make life miserable for the rest of us, and fight over petty differences like the spoiled brats you are!  You can't be arsed to enforce any of the laws that actually keep people safe, and the ones that _don't_ matter are the ones people always end up getting sent to Drear for disobeying.  And then you -- you -- er..."  He suddenly looked around at the others, halting his extemporaneous speech on The Decline of Western Civilization.  Everyone was staring at him.  He gulped.  "I -- I'm sorry," he said nervously.  "I'm very sorry.  I didn't mean any of it."  Then he turned and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Lady Aeaeae tried to tug the fork out of the table, but it was stuck.  "That was decidedly odd," said Rowena, after she had put Silencing Charms on her mother and Lord Salazar.  Both of them were too busy gaping to notice.

"Very," agreed Helga.  "I wonder what's wrong with him.  He's usually so quiet."

"He hasn't got the intelligence of a dead snail, that's what's wrong with him," said Rowena.

"I think you're being quite harsh," said Helga.  "He's obviously got at least the intelligence of a dead snail, if not a live one.  After all, you're still worried about him and that Animagus thing, aren't you?  And he _did_ have a point."

"If he hasn't got the intelligence of a dead snail _yet,_ trying to become an Animagus will do the trick for certain.  I'm not worried at all."

"Well, then, I hope you know what you're doing," said Helga.

"I _always_ know what I'm doing," Rowena insisted.

Helga paused; Rowena supposed it was because what she had said was nearly irrefutable.  "I hope you _both_ know what you're doing," she insisted. "Do me a favor.  If Runty's as confused as ever and you can tell he'll try to do the spell anyway, give him some help."

"He won't ever _get _to the spell," said Rowena.  "He'll hem and haw and be afraid of the spell, and then he'll give up."

"No he won't," said Helga. "Godric _never_ gives up.  He's a bit mad -- you know that, I know that, and probably _he_ knows it as well."

"If you doubt your own sanity, you're sane," said Rowena.

"What?"

"Never mind.  I'll see what I can do for him if he gets lost, but I can't guarantee it.  If, one day, we've got a white rabbit instead of a Transfiguration teacher, I will _not _be held responsible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phrase "Rodents of Unusual Size," obviously, come from _The Princess Bride._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The faculty are nervous about magical politics, and the students are nervous about exams.

After the disaster at dinner, Lady Aeaeae had prepared to leave by the very next morning, taking her husband with her.  Before she left, however, she held a whispered conversation with Rowena.  Lord Salazar regarded them from across the room, looking patient but nonetheless rather annoyed.  Jasper stood behind him anxiously, peering over his father's shoulder.

"Do you recall what we talked about?"  Lady Aeaeae had asked Rowena.

_What, do you mean the arrow-slits or Lord Salazar's many faults?_ wondered Rowena, but she nodded.  "Godric and Fudge?"

"Yes, them.  Now listen, dear, and I'll tell you what to --" she said.

Rowena held up a hand.  "Look," she said, "if this is going to involve me having to do _anything _other than avoid either of them, I don't want to hear about it."

"Rowena," her mother sighed, "you're being very difficult.  If you're going to keep behaving in such a shameful manner, I shall refuse to tell you any more."  She then turned to Lord Salazar.  "We will be leaving now.  We know when we're not wanted," she said rather nastily to him.

"Perhaps you don't," he replied.  "If you had, you would never have come."

She wrinkled her nose.  "Come, Gualterus," she said sharply, and, like a trained dog, Rowena's father followed her, muttering muzzily to himself.

Rowena shook her head as Lord Salazar withdrew from the room, glaring at Jasper as he left.  "The next Council meeting will be _fun,_ won't it?" she asked.

"Almost as much fun as being repeatedly ripped apart by vultures," agreed Jasper cheerfully.  "I can hardly wait.  Do you think they'll be _this _awful at the meeting?" he asked.

"Mother won't.  She's been pretending to be nice for as long as I've known her.  It'll take more than a little Veritaserum to knock _that_ down permanently  Although it was wonderful to watch."

Jasper sighed.  "I wish it were like that for _my_ father.  He's never going to rest until he's got control of that Council.  He'd been saving that trick up for a very desperate situation, but now that it's been used your mother may have to watch what she eats and drinks from now on, or else she'll find herself unexpectedly telling the truth."

"How frightening.  No poisons?" asked Rowena.

"Poisons are for inconveniences, not enemies," said Jasper.  "Especially not enemies in such a high position that they'd be likely targets of poisoning."

"My mother would _never_ make that distinction," Rowena said. "She'd poison anyone she didn't like if she could.  Fortunately, she has to get all her poisons from other people; she's dreadful with potions."

"Oh, come now," said Jasper, "anyone's better than that werewolf."

"Now really," said Rowena, "there's no need to insult him simply because he broke your nose last night.  Besides, it's all better now!"  She smiled condescendingly.  This was not precisely true; Healer Wooton had fixed his _nose,_ but Jasper still had two black eyes to show for his trouble.

"It's not _my _fault," he muttered.  "He's a _werewolf_.  They don't get hurt as easily."

"Serves you right for getting into a fight with him, then, doesn't it?" asked Rowena.  "I suddenly realize how your father came to be such an expert in healing potions," she added.

Jasper looked indignant, but Rowena had more important things to do than argue, so she turned and walked away.

* * *

Godric was having a very bad day.  He'd been ten minutes late to his first class -- for some reason he was always late -- and then he'd nearly been eaten by a large and innocuous-looking flower of Helga's.  And now Lord Slytherin's pet goblin was standing on his desk and pestering him.  Godric dared not complain to Lord Salazar.  After his outburst at dinner he felt that it would probably be prudent to pretend that he didn't exist for several days, and, as such, he had been staying away from the dungeons all day so as not to run into Lord Salazar.

"...tracking mud into the castle, and otherwise blatantly disregarding rules!" Peeves finished, finally concluding with his long list.  Godric glared.  He wondered why the goblin hadn't cared to interview Helga's mother about the various crimes he'd committed while being tutored.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked.

"You are taking this far too lightly, _human,_" hissed the goblin.

Godric detected great contempt in the last word, which he considered rather misplaced; the goblin was, after all, a servant.  He shrugged.  "Oh, no, it's just that I had a mud-tracking expedition planned this afternoon and I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The goblin stared, not seeming to grasp the concept of humor.

"Everyone needs a hobby," added Godric.  Confusing the enemy was a strategy he had taken to heart long ago.  "Now, are you going to leave?" he asked, glaring.

"Very well," Peeves muttered.  He got off of the desk, using some open drawers as steps, and walked quickly out of the room.

Godric stared moodily for a moment at a small bottle of green ink, musing on rules and goblins.  His thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked at the door, and he accidentally knocked the ink bottle off of the desk.  Godric, muttering to himself, knelt down to retrieve the broken pieces.  "Come in," he told whoever it was at the door.

Rowena stepped in, an unpleasant expression on her face.  As always, she brandished her wand, as though perhaps someone might try to hurt her if she didn't have it with her.  "You can't get into my classroom anymore," she said, voice bordering on sing-song-y.

Godric knew this, having tried unsuccessfully to sneak in earlier that morning to paint the walls bright orange, but he forced himself to look confused.  "Why not?"

"Because I got Jasper to put up wards.  So don't even try."

"Any chance he could do the same for me?" asked Godric.  He wished she'd told him something more about the wards; if he knew what they blocked he would know what he could get away with.

"No," said Rowena.

"So you just came to gloat?"

"Of course not," she said.  "I understand that you'd rather not get involved with the Wizards' Council in any way?"

"What have I done now?" asked Godric, startled.  This had something to do with his unfortunate outburst at dinner, he decided.  Why _did I say those things?  Now I'm going to be sacked, and it could have been prevented if I had just kept my temper.  She's right.  I _am_ an idiot._

"Nothing yet," she said, "except you do far too well with transfigurations for your own good."

"Oh," he said, relieved.  He went back to picking up the pieces of the ink bottle.  _Well, a lucky idiot, then.  Lord Salazar will probably come around later; no doubt he's very busy with classes or something.  Should I prepare a defense?  No, no, best to apologize profusely and blame something else.  Or perhaps I was possessed -- yes, it was a demon, _that's_ it... no, wait, I don't think most wizards believe in demons.  But there must be _some_ equivalent --_

"Godric!" shouted Rowena.  Godric jumped, which caused him to drop the pieces again.

"_What?_" he asked.

"What _is_ that?"

"Amazingly enough, it's an ink bottle," said Godric.  Looking down at the green puddle on the floor, he muttered, "And quite a lot of ink."

"Why haven't you fixed it?" Rowena demanded.

Godric looked at her.  "What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you fixed it?" she repeated.

Godric blinked.  "Should I have?"

"It's a waste of perfectly good glass not to," she said peevishly, rolling her eyes.

He frowned to himself.  He knew he was missing something in this exchange, though what it was eluded him at the moment.  "Fine," he said, turning.  "I'll go and get some glue."

Rowena stared.  "You can't honestly say you don't know that spell, can you?"

Godric looked back at her.  "There's a spell?" he asked.  "That _would_ make things simpler, wouldn't it?"

She sighed and shook her head.  Jabbing her wand at the shattered glass, Rowena muttered "_Reparo!_" and the glass coalesced into a bottle again.  With another spell, the ink was gone from the floor and back in the bottle.  Then she looked up at him inquisitively.

"Thanks," he said, and slowly knelt to retrieve the bottle.  "Now what's this about the Council?"

"But what about the --"

"What about the what?"

"Don't you want to know that spell?" she asked.

"It's not important," Godric said quickly.  "The Council," he said simply, sitting on the floor so as to be nearly eye-level with Rowena.

"I think my mother's going to prepare Fudge for when they get rid of the Glendowers."  She looked at him expectantly.  When he said nothing, she asked, "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Godric.  "I thought you hated and wanted to kill me.  Since when am I part of your little political news ring?"

"It involves you.  I thought you ought to know," she said.  "You don't care?"

"I don't," he said.  "As I said before, I'd rather not get involved with the Council."

"Well," she said, "that's going to be a bit difficult.  You see," she explained, "they're going to want Fudge to prove he can do what he says he can."

"Oh," said Godric, sounding uncomfortable.

"Yes," she said.  "And they're going to make it a fairly challenging piece of transfiguration," she added.

"Oh," he repeated.  "What do they do to him if he can't do it?" he asked, sounding worried.

"We won't find out," said Rowena.  "I suspect my mother and her money will feature prominently in his mysterious success, though no public mention of it will be made."

Godric nodded.  "But why should I care?  For that matter, why do _you_ care?"

She glared.  "Because I don't want her gaining any more power.  It's bad enough now; she thinks she can make me do whatever she wants -- she thinks she can make _you_ do whatever she wants!  Doesn't that bother you?  Even a little bit?"

He shrugged.  "I've been treated worse," he said simply.  "You can't control life, Rowena.  It doesn't work like that."

She muttered something that sounded like "Well, it had better start working like that," but did not elaborate.  "At any rate," she continued, now speaking to Godric, "we're going to have to scare Fudge."

"Are you?" he said.  "Who exactly does 'we' refer to, again?  You, Helena, and your dog?"

"Ah, Godric," she said, smiling cruelly, "you're not as stupid as you look.  Which would, admittedly, be a challenge for anyone.  'We' refers to me and you."

"No," said Godric flatly.  She raised an eyebrow.  "No, Rowena, I am not going to go off to frighten someone.  Do you know how long I've been doing it?  Do you know what it's _like_ to walk into a room and expect everyone in it to fall silent and _stare_ at you and wonder if you're going to kill anybody?"  He stood up again, suddenly, and she instinctively stepped back.  "No, of course you don't.  I hope you never do."

Shaking her head, Rowena reminded herself that this was Godric, this was Runty, the boy she'd asked Helga to throw off of a roof when they were younger.  He was hardly dangerous.  Taking a deep breath, she started again.  "Oh, you'd be surprised.  Anyway, when did I ever say anything about _you_ frightening him?  He ordered you around for a long while, didn't he?  Besides, _you're _the least frightening person I know."

"So why --"

"You know him.  You've worked with him.  You know what makes him cringe, what he wants, and how much he'll do for it."

"I thought you knew I didn't want to get involved?"

"You're involved," she said.  "Get used to it."

"What if I don't want to?"

She smiled her not-nice smile again.  "Tell me, Godric, would you _really_ like to find out?  Oh, and either learn _Reparo_ soon or don't break things.  It's a simple Latin-derived first-person-singular present-indicative incantation.  I mean, _really._"  She shook her head disgustedly, and left.

_And just when I thought she'd got the hang of not hating me, too,_ thought Godric.  He shrugged, supposing it was only fair, and went back to his desk to try and get something done.

* * *

After the departure of Lady Aeaeae, time seemed to pass much more quickly.  Soon the students were studying for their final exams.  Helena hummed to herself as she chose random books out of which she read random passages aloud to random people.

"Ridgebacked dragons," she informed Julian and Devlin the day before their first exams, "have a spectacular mating ritual in which they circle each other --"

"We don't care!  Nobody _cares!_" shouted Julian, who was at his wit's end, he still had not mastered the art of turning pomegranates into apples, and Professor Gryffindor had assured them that this would be on the test.

"Calm down!" said Devlin.  "Besides, what are _you_ worried about?  You're top of the class in Charms."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to be _bottom_ of the class in Transfiguration," said Julian miserably.

"Perhaps he'll forget the exam is tomorrow," said Helena cheerfully.

Julian glared at her.  "Come _on,_ he's not _that_ stupid."

"We could do a Memory Charm on him," said Helena.  "It'd be easy."

"Oh really?" asked Julian.  "We haven't _done_ those yet.  _I_ haven't done those yet, and your lunatic mother who hates me has given me several piles of extra credit work that I'm never going to finish and I'm going to go mad or possibly die, either of which would be _very bad!_"

Helena and Devlin exchanged worried glances at this uncharacteristically incoherent exclamation.  "Have you been eating enough?" asked Devlin.

"He looks pale," observed Helena.  "Perhaps he needs rest."

"He _always_ looks pale," Devlin said.  "He needs meat.  He needs more blood in him."

"What is he, a vampire?  It's obvious he needs to sleep," protested Helena.

"Look at that!" said Devlin, poking Julian in the arm.  "Skin and bones.  He needs food."

"Don't poke me," said Julian grumpily.  "I'm just fine, and what I need is for both of you to leave me alone."

"See?  He's becoming antisocial.  Obviously his mind needs a rest from all this work," Helena said.

"He just needs more to eat.  It's hunting instincts, you know, for survival in the wild," said Devlin.

"You're forgetting he's not a smelly little beast like _you,_" said Helena.  "He's never _been_ in the wild."

"That's getting personal," Devlin observed.

"Go _away!_" shouted Julian.  They both jumped.

"Fine," said Helena.  "Nobody likes a complainer."  She turned and left, nose in the air.

"Are you positive you don't want me to bring back a bowl of stew?  Some bread?" asked Devlin.  Julian glared at him.  "All right," said Devlin.  "_Fail_ Transfiguration!  Have fun, but don't blame me!"

Julian swore under his breath, jumped up from the table he was at, and called after Devlin that perhaps he would like something to eat after all.

* * *

And suddenly the exams were upon them; those tests which are dreaded before their coming yet strangely untroubling when they do arrive.  The End was here, and none of them could do anything about it anymore; so, went the general consensus, it was best to pretend that one had repented and get on with it.

Transfiguration was not _too_ difficult.  Julian's apple was strangely pomegranate-skinned, while Devlin's was just a tiny bit redder than it needed to be.  Helena's own pomegranate had exploded, covering the room with seeds and pulp, for reasons unknown to all, but when the others sniggered she had turned on them and threatened to try and turn _them_ into apples.  Professor Gryffindor had then informed her that they would not be studying human-vegetable transformations until much later, but that she was quite welcome to try, although he would rather she did it outside of his class so he wouldn't need to assign detentions.  There was no mention of the incident for a long while after that.

Charms was noticeably more difficult, for there was a large written portion on Lady Ravenclaw's test; she evidently felt that anyone who was not mastering the art of reading did not deserve to do well at anything else.  There was, however, also a practical test, wherein one had to use a levitating charm on a large chunk of lead.  Helena managed to do much better in this area, as did Julian.  Devlin, evidently nervous, thought he must've have made the lead a great deal heavier, but once it was retrieved and Lady Ravenclaw had repaired the floor, he succeeded in making the lead float.

Professor Hufflepuff had a selection of simulacra which the students had to disarm and immobilize in the least amount of time, which was made harder by the imitation curses and the startling nature of the simulacra.  Not to be outdone by her husband, Mistress Hufflepuff's final test was to successfully transplant a vegetable lamb without using a pot.  Devlin had to chase his lamb (which had wandered away in search of greener pastures) and drag it back to the re-planting site without letting it step on its roots.  Julian's escaped altogether, but everyone kept taunting him by passing him the plate of lamb that night at supper.

Their Arithmancy test was much less exciting.  Devlin felt that, on the whole, he preferred the Arithmancy to the vegetable lambs, but he still wished he had several more fingers to count on, as they would have been very useful with all of these Multiplication Magics they'd been studying.

The Literacy test was highly confusing in its own right: they were given three stories to read and told to scribble down what they felt was the main point of each of them.  There was one story about a man who pulled out the arm of a monster and then had to go into a swamp and kill its mother; Devlin decided that meant that "if you're going to pull someone's arm out, you had better be certain that their mother doesn't find out, because she'll kill you."

Then there was another story about a fellow who had decided that making wings out of wax and feathers would be an ideal way to get out of jail.  The only problem was that the sun melted the wax on the wings and they fell apart. Devlin wrote that "if he was thick enough to think that wings should be held together by wax, he deserved to be in jail anyway."

The last story was the most complicated; it was about two brothers who had been raised by a wolf and had decided to build a city.  One of them, whose name was Romulus, drew a line in the dirt and told the other, whose name was Remus, that this was where the wall of the future city would be.  Then Remus, for no particular reason, crossed the line, and Romulus killed him.  Devlin wondered who exactly was writing these stories, and whether Lady Ravenclaw and Mistress Hufflepuff knew about it, but he dutifully wrote that "building cities is a dangerous business, especially if you have a homicidal maniac for a brother.  Also, people who have been raised by wolves probably don't have good manners so you shouldn't trust them, even if you have also been raised by the same wolves."

He surveyed his work with pleasure, noting that he had written at _least_ two lines of writing for each story (counting scratched-out misspellings), and decided he was quite pleased with himself.  The others were evidently trying to write the next Great Epic, and Devlin frowned, wondering if he should elaborate.  He checked his writing and decided that no, indeed, it was entirely perfect, and anyone who said otherwise was merely jealous.  All they had left now was Potions, which would not, of course, be much of a challenge for an intelligent person such as himself.  He sat back in his chair, brimming with smugness, and considered the world at large.

Then Potions came, and it was, Devlin admitted, slightly harder than he had been counting on.  He supposed he should have studied more, because he really had no idea what to put into a Nocturnal Nostrum.  He vaguely remembered something about tongue of dog, but that might have been for wart remover.  Still, he stirred a spoonful of powdered dog's tongue into the mix.  Already he had good deal of dragon's bile and some hen's teeth, which, if nothing else, would certainly add to the texture.  He felt that dog's tongue would, at the very least, give the potion some extra zing.

As it turned out, it gave the potion a bit more zing than it needed, because while Devlin was adding duck's tears, it exploded.  After the smoke had cleared a bit, Lord Slytherin cautiously stepped over to Devlin's cauldron (which had miraculously survived) and peered at the smoking remains of his potion.  "Would you mind telling me exactly what was in that?" he asked.

Devlin very much minded, because he was now quite certain that either dog's tongue or hen's teeth had been quite the wrong ingredient, but Lord Slytherin _had_ asked, and saying 'no' probably meant that he would fail the class.  "Er," he stated, looking around at his classmates through the hazy air.  "Well, um, there was some dragon's bile," he said, "and duck's tears," he said, "and... some dog's tongue as well," he added hesitantly.

"And hen's teeth," said Lord Slytherin, "if I'm not mistaken."

Devlin nodded, then looked at his shoes.

"Well," said Lord Slytherin, "I suppose we all know now why hens with teeth are so rare these days.  You might have done well if you hadn't put those hen's teeth in, but thank you for demonstrating their properties for us all," he added.

Devlin brightened.  "Does that mean I'm getting high marks?"

"No," said Lord Slytherin cheerily, scribbling something down on a parchment and fanning some smoke away from his face.

Devlin scowled.

* * *

"I failed," said Julian, his head in his hands.  They were sitting by the fire in Professor Gryffindor's common room, Julian being the Panicky Student, Devlin playing the role of Supportive Friend, and Helena having assumed the part of the General Nuisance.

"You did _not_ fail," said Devlin.  "Look at it this way; at least your pomegranate didn't explode," he added.

Helena glared at him.  "Oh, who managed to nearly destroy the Potions classroom in a vain attempt to make a sleeping potion?" she asked.

"Hmmph," said Devlin.  "What are you _here_ for, anyway?  Doesn't your mother let you stay in _her_ tower anymore?"

"For your information, I came to beat Julian at chess," she said primly.

"Oh, that's _just_ what he needs," said Devlin, rolling his eyes.  Julian glared at him.  "I -- I mean, not that she _would_," he added.

"Do you even know _how_ to play chess?" asked Julian.

Devlin shook his head.  Julian and Helena exchanged horrified looks.

"We _must_ teach him," said Helena, conjuring the board with a vastly against-the-rules spell.

"Yes, yes, very important," said Julian, scrambling to put the pieces on the board.  "Now, I always forget -- do the knights go _here?_"

"No, no, the pointy-heads -- yes, that's right."

"_Pointy-heads?  _Those are _bishops._"

"Same thing."

"_Helena!_  That's a horrible thing to say."

"What?  They're pointy!"

Professor Gryffindor entered and hurried up the stairs, muttering to himself about pomegranates and apples.  Julian froze, counting the footsteps under his breath until he was certain that the professor was safely out of earshot.

Then he took a deep breath.  "Good," he said.  "Now that _that's_ out of the way....  Helena, you take the white pieces."

"I don't _want_ the white pieces," she whined.

Julian sighed; this was going to be a long game.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Godric, Rowena, and Jasper get lost. Helga and Basil get in trouble. Salazar probably gets a laugh.

And here they were, lost in the forest again, although this time the only member of the original party was Rowena.  She was very pleased with herself, and glad they'd been lost the first time, for it had provided inspiration for this time around.  They would, alas, have to spend the night in Gryffindor's Hollow once they got there, for it would be so dark they couldn't _possibly_ go back until morning.

"Mum?  It's getting dark," said Helena.  "I don't like these woods."

"Don't worry, we'll be out of them soon," said Rowena.  "Perhaps your Arithmancy teacher can help, seeing as he's been kind enough to get us lost in the first place," she said, giving Jasper a carefully adjusted glare.  She'd altered his calculations slightly when he'd been staring in astonishment at Devlin's many siblings.  The purpose of their journey had been to take the students back home, but Rowena had decided to hijack the trip for her own devices.

She had managed to get Jasper involved in an argument about group Auto-Apportation so that he would give it a try and, with some help from Rowena, get the wrong coordinates, landing a considerable distance away from their target destination.  Rowena had convinced Godric (who was now looking nervously around at the trees) to suggest Gryffindor's Hollow, and, of course, they'd landed in the woods.

"I don't think we're in the right place," said Godric hesitantly.

"Of course we're not in the right place," snapped Jasper.  "We're _lost!_"

"I'm hungry," whined Helena.  "Mum, when are we going to have dinner?"

"I don't _know,_" said Rowena through clenched teeth.  "Helena, go and bother Professor Gryffindor.  Oh, look, I think there are less trees up ahead.  Can you see anything, Godric?"

"There _are_ less trees up ahead," said Godric uncomfortably.  "I don't like this, though... it's too dark."

"Yes, I imagine we shall have to spend the night in the village," said Rowena.  "I certainly don't trust this Auto-Apportation spell for groups -- we might land farther off-grounds than is safe -- and I'd rather not fly at night if I can help it."

At this, Godric looked even less happy, but stayed silent.  Soon they came to the place where the trees stopped altogether, and found themselves standing in quite the wrong village.  No one was outside.  Rowena blinked; she'd been wrong.  She hadn't been wrong very often before, and she didn't like the feeling at all.  "Where are we?" she asked, expecting this to be a useless question.

"It's a Muggle village," said Godric, who was now looking positively terrified.  "The one I came from.  As I recall, the residents are less than hospitable when it comes to... well, me."

"Yes, well, do you have to ask why?" asked Rowena.

"A real Muggle village?" asked Helena.  "Mum, can we go and look at the Muggles?  I've never seen a Muggle before!"

"Don't be silly, Helena, you just saw some at Devlin's, and all of the servants at... at home are Muggles," said Rowena.  She'd almost said "At your father's castle," but for some reason she didn't want to mention him to her daughter.

"But you never let me _speak_ to them except to ask them for things," Helena whined.

"Godric, should we just take our chances in the forest or is it safe here?" Rowena asked, ignoring Helena in her determination to blame anything that went wrong on Godric.

Godric blinked.  "What do you mean, is it _safe_ here?  What do you think they _have?_"

"Don't Muggles like sharp things?" asked Jasper.

"What, you think a little village like this has an army of its own?" asked Godric incredulously.  "The worst they could do is stone us," he said, though he grimaced as he said it.  "And since we've all got wands... no, I think it's safe.  I suppose we could spend the night."  He looked distinctly unhappy about it, though.  "I hope my brother's not dead."

Godric stopped at one of the hovels and knocked carefully on the wooden door.

"Godric, what –"

"This is where I used to live," he explained, pushing the door open and ushering them in.  Then he ducked in himself.

Rowena looked around.  Everywhere was dark and dingy; the floor was just dirt.  She felt unpleasantly cramped just from looking at the place.  Even so, she felt that this was not right, that she was trespassing on someone else's land; a feeling she never got even when barging right into Godric's classroom and refusing to leave.  _Probably because it's so dirty,_ she thought.

"Geoffrey?" a woman's voice asked, and Rowena suddenly realized they were not alone in the room.  The owner of the voice, dressed in brown so close to the color of everything else that it could have been deliberate camouflage, turned around and dropped a plate on the floor.  "GEOFFREY!" she called, panicked.  Then she grabbed the plate she'd dropped and flung it at Godric, who ducked.

"I'm so sorry," began Godric, "I --"

"_Godric?_  You got away!  Where have you been all this time?"  A man stood in the doorway, dressed in similar fashion, or lack thereof.  Rowena noticed that he looked very like Godric; his hair was lighter, but his nose was the same shape.  "And what are they _feeding _you?" he asked.

"Do you know these people?" the Muggle woman demanded of him.

The man who smiled tentatively.  Rowena thought the expression was exactly like Godric's just before he said something that he'd rather he didn't have to tell anyone about.  "Winifred, this is my little brother Godric."

"_Little?_" demanded Winifred.  "That... that _thing_ is going to _leave this house at once!_  And who are these... people?" she asked, looking distastefully at Rowena and Jasper.  Helena was hiding behind Rowena.

"I'm sorry," said Godric, cringing.  He looked as though he was trying to make himself look smaller, but it didn't seem to be working very well.  "I'll just... erm... sorry, I'll go."  He looked helplessly at the doorway, which Rowena was standing in.  "_I'll go_," he repeated nervously, glaring at Rowena.

"No, you most certainly will _not,_" said Rowena crossly.  "Muggle!" she shouted at Geoffrey.  "Come here, you."

"_Rowena, his name is Geoffrey,_" said Godric through clenched teeth.

"Yes, but who are _you?_" asked Geoffrey, looking at her.  "Godric, who's she, and why's she ordering everyone around?"

"It's her hobby," said Godric wearily.  "This is... this is Rowena."

"If I may make a suggestion?" asked Jasper, who had been silent until now.

"You may _not,_" said Rowena.  "After all, you're the one who got us into this mess."  Privately, she was mostly cranky that they _had _gone the wrong way.

"Mum, I'm _hungry,_" whined Helena.  At the sound of her voice, Winifred looked at Rowena with something like jealousy.

"You're the... the _wizard,_ aren't you?" the Muggle woman asked Godric distastefully.

"In the loosest sense of the word," said Rowena.  "He's not very good at it.  Then again, neither is this one," she added, nodding at Jasper, "and he's had loads of opportunities to learn it."

"I'm not _bad!_" said Jasper.  "At least I can repair _broken glass,_" he added snidely.

Godric looked grumpily down at him and muttered something none of them could hear, but he had the common decency to look embarrassed.

"I'm hungry," repeated Helena.

Winifred stared at Helena for a moment, frowning.  Then she looked at a pot that was in the fire.  "Geoffrey... d'you think we can spare some stew?  What's your name, girl?"

Helena looked at Rowena, who nodded.  "I'm Helena," she said quietly.  "Are you a Muggle?  I've heard about them.  You haven't got red hair like Devlin's family.  How do you _manage_ without magic?  Do you really only have one god?  Isn't it safer to have at least two around in case something happens to one of them?  And how can you have stories about it if it can't argue with other gods, or does it just argue with mortals instead?  Does it have children?  What does it eat?  Where did it --"

"That's enough, Helena," said Rowena quickly, though her daughter's string of questions had made the Muggle woman grin a bit.  "It's been... interesting meeting Godric's... family," she said, "but we've got to find somewhere to stay the night.  That's more important at the moment than food."

"_But I'm hungry!_" shouted Helena, stamping her feet.

"Do they look like they've got food enough to feed themselves?" asked Rowena.  "Helena, you're being a brat.  Now come along; we don't exactly have a lot of time, it's getting dark."

"You can stay here," said Winifred quickly.  "I'll see what we can do about food.  The butcher owes Geoffrey some favors.  Not that it'd hurt if _you_ came along to be convincing," she said, shooting a dirty look at Godric.

"I'll see what I can do," said Godric.  "I'm very sorry about the --"

Rowena kicked him in the shin.  "Don't _simper,_" she hissed.  "I cannot _believe_ you sometimes.  Now go along with your brother and try to look menacing," she snapped.

"Can I go too?" asked Helena.

"You most certainly may not," Rowena said.

Helena pouted.

* * *

"Where _are_ they?"

Helga looked up from her scroll.  "What?"

"Where are they?" Basil repeated.

"Who are you -- oh.  Don't worry about it," she said.  "Rowena was plotting.  She probably took them for a side trip."

"Plotting?"

"It's a bad habit of hers," she said.  "I already warned Lord Slytherin that he would have more to worry about if they came back in time than if they didn't show up for a while."

"Oh.  Look, you should come inside -- you'll strain your eyes, you know.  It's getting dark."

"They're my eyes.  I have every right to strain them."

"What are you working on, anyway?" he asked.  "That looks suspiciously like part of the plans for the Willows."

She grinned at him.  "That's exactly what it is."

"But -- you finished those.  They're _there._"  Basil gestured vaguely at the surrounding circle of trees.

"Yes, but -- oh, I don't know," she said.  "I mean, that Muggle army got through them just by going across the lake, didn't they?  And there were _so_ many little extra features I meant to put into them that I never got around to."

He was now very amused.  "You do remember when you got this project, don't you, Helga?"

"Hmm?"

"Because _I_ do.  I remember you said something along the lines of 'Is he _mad? _ How am I supposed to do what he's asking for?'"

"I asked if he'd lost his mind," corrected Helga.

He shrugged.  "Same thing.  You do remember the original order was for shrubs, don't you?"

"I know," she said, nodding, "but I really think that shrubs lack that certain... that certain..."

"...giant monster tree-ness?" offered Basil.

"Yes, that's it exactly!" said Helga.  "Giant monster tree-ness.  It was really what this project needed."

"Oh, I quite agree," said Basil, laughing.  "But what are you doing to them now?"

"Improving them," said Helga.

"Can't you do that later?" he asked.

She cocked her head.  "Why do you want me to come inside so badly?" she asked, an amused grin on her face.  "I realize the students are all gone now, but it's not as though we haven't got all of tonight..."

"No, it's not," he said, returning her grin.  "But that's not what I was talking about.  Business _must _come before pleasure," he said airily.

She gave him a skeptical look.  "So you're going to drag me away from my terribly important giant monster tree work to do something dull?" she asked.

"No, no, no," he said.  "Not _dull._  Never _dull._  What I was thinking was that now Slytherin's son is safely out of the way, I think it's the best time to go and poke about in his study."

Helga blinked.  "You want to sneak around in somebody else's room like a student, and you're asking me to come with you because... you're afraid of the dark?"

"Of course not," he said.  "I'd just feel silly being caught alone."

"So you'd rather be caught with me?"

He nodded.  "Well, yes.  That's the general idea."

"Should I be honored?"

Mock-solemnly, he announced, "I would much rather be caught sneaking around in someone else's study with _you_ than with anyone else."

"Well, I should _hope_ so," she said.  Then, feeling very silly herself, Helga asked, "Are we going to look at the miniature castle?"

"Of course," he said.  "In fact, I think that's where he's controlling the castle wards from," he said.  "It's a very secure model -- the defenses can't be breached except from the _inside_, unlike the traditional lock-and-door temporary wards, meant to be opened from outside."

She stared at him.  "Admit it.  You just want to play with all the little furniture."

"There's little furniture?" he asked indignantly.  "I wasn't told about that.  Anyway, are you coming with me?"

She nodded.  "I think I've married a lunatic," she said, after a moment.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Basil informed her.

* * *

John, the butcher, peered out into the dying light.  "And what do you want?" he demanded of Geoffrey, who was usually John's idea of a good neighbor -- well, in that he stayed out of the way and generally tried not to notice when things went missing.  He peered a bit further, and saw a little girl who looked like she'd be more at home in some big city or a fairy story than _here, _in real life.

"You been stealing?  Because I could swear she's not yours.  In fact, yours is _dead._  What was her name again?"

Geoffrey glared.  It was evident that John had said the wrong thing.  He didn't much care; it wasn't as though Geoffrey could do anything to him for saying it anyway.  Any argument would doubtless be resolved in John's favor, as none of his family had been known to dabble in magic.

The little girl looked back into the shadows.  When had it become so _dark_ outside?  "I don't think I like him," she observed solemnly, to no one in particular.

"No, I never did either," said another voice -- from the shadows.  Or were they shadows?  John stared as he realized what had been making it so dark: the light was being blocked by something that was roughly the shape of a man, but _huge._  It took him a few moments to make out the features, and a few more to recognize them.  It only took him one moment to realize that he was in quite a lot of trouble.

"G-Godric?  Is that you?  Where'd you run off to, anyway?" he asked.  He'd always had a very bad memory as a boy -- John desperately hoped that he hadn't outgrown it.

"The deepest pits of Hell," intoned the apparition, "therein to learn of things which must not be spoken of to mere mortals."

"Really?" piped the little girl.  "Can _I_ go?"

"Ask your mother," it snapped.

"The -- the deepest pits of Hell, eh?" said John.  He was well and truly doomed.  He should never have picked on Godric -- but it'd been so _tempting._  After all, the boy had always been getting into trouble on his _own,_ so what was wrong with helping him out a bit?  But, he decided, there had always been something _unnatural_ about the boy.  Unnatural and mean-spirited.  The time John and all his brothers had been turned into toads came to mind.  And then there had been that sudden growth spurt just before he'd disappeared....  Well, he'd better try to act unfazed.  Otherwise, he'd be more doomed.  "What's the weather like there?"

"Very pleasant, actually," said Godric.  "It never rains.  And you don't have to worry about it getting dark."

"Ooh, now I _really_ want to go!"

"Helena, if you aren't quiet, I might just assign some extra work for you over the summer," Godric told the girl.

"Extra work?" whispered John to Geoffrey, who was beginning to look comparatively _friendly._

"She's a demon.  Enslaved until autumn," Geoffrey informed him.  "Keeps trying to get him to say the spell to release her."

"Ah."  John nodded slowly.  "What was it you came for, again?"

* * *

"Look!  The tapestries in the Great Hall are all there!"  Basil poked at the tiny wall hangings with the tip of his wand.

"And there's us!"  Helga pointed at the Arithmancy tower skylight, where two figures were just visible leaning over a little table, upon which sat another miniature castle.

"I wonder what happens if you move anything," said Basil, squinting through the other windows.

"I don't know.  We really should be careful," said Helga.  "We don't want him to notice anyone's been here..."

"Oh, he doesn't notice anything unless it's got a square root.  We're perfectly sa -- ah... er, oops?"  Basil had accidentally pulled away a little bit of the "stone" on one part of the tower.  He blinked at the pebble in his hand.

"Well, I think he'd -- Basil, look!"  Helga stared out the window as a large rock floated past it.

"What?"  He squinted out the window.  Experimentally, he began moving the hand up and down.  The rock mimicked his movements.

"Excuse me," said a voice from the stairway; startled, Basil dropped the little piece of miniature castle stone he was holding, and something heavy clattered against the side of the wall.

He turned around, only to see Lord Slytherin standing on the spiral stairs.  "I was wondering," said Slytherin, "if you two were going to be having dinner tonight."

"Yes, of course," said Helga, grabbing her speechless husband's arm and dragging him towards the stairs.  "We were looking for something."

"A book," said Basil.

Salazar smiled.  "Of course.  I hope you found it?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Ah ...no," said Helga.  "I think Rowena must have it," she lied.  "It has a brown cover," she added vaguely.  "If you see it."

"Then I trust you will not be returning here again?" he asked, in the same tone.

Basil's face seemed to betray reluctance.  Jabbing him hard in the ribs, Helga said, "No, I don't think so."

"Very good," he said.  He turned and began to descend the stairs.

Once Salazar was out of earshot, Helga gave Basil something of a Look.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "Nothing," she sighed.

* * *

"I'm a demon," announced Helena proudly when they returned.

"Do you _really_ think she should be exposed to such dishonesty?"  Jasper stared at Rowena, obviously expecting an answer.

"I don't see why not.  It's in her blood," Rowena said, glaring at him.  "Besides, the last time I checked, _you_ weren't her mother.  How are you a demon, Helena?" she asked, turning her attention to her daughter.

"I don't know," said Helena.  "_He_ said it," she added, pointing at Geoffrey.  "Where's Hell?"

"Underground," said Rowena.  "It's near Hades, but warmer.  You brought food?  Excellent -- I'm impressed, Godric."

"It wasn't anything, really," said Godric, shrugging.

"Of course not," Rowena cheerfully agreed.  "If it _had _been, you wouldn't have been able to do it.  Now get out from underfoot -- unless you can Transfigure this into something better."

* * *

"I was wondering," began Lord Slytherin as they sat down to dinner, "what binds you and Lady Rowena and... ah..."

"Godric," prompted Helga.

Lord Slytherin frowned.  "Does he not have a title?"

"I think the students call him 'Professor Gryffindor,'" offered Basil.

Helga laughed.  "He always looks absolutely _shocked_ when they do it, too.  To be honest, my lord, I don't think he's quite comfortable with being anything but Godric.  We grew up together.  Mum tutored Rowena and Godric in magic."

"I see," said Slytherin.  "Well, why was your mother tutoring Lady Rowena again?  I assume that it wasn't simply out of the goodness of her heart."

"And what's your motive for teaching here?" Basil asked pointedly.

"I meant no offense," said Lord Slytherin.  "Perhaps I should be more careful with my questions."

"Perhaps you shouldn't insult my family," said Helga quietly, although she knew perfectly well that her mother had always been the first to know about anything dangerous.  News of impending plague, battles, and skirmishes -- not to mention the odd political death -- had always reached Helga's mother quickly, often before the events themselves had even happened.  It had to be Lady Aeaeae's doing.

"I wasn't insulting," said Lord Slytherin.  "Merely commenting.  I am not in the practice of speaking to fools, and only fools credit kindness as the single greatest motive of any person, no matter _how _charitable.  But I suppose it's not important.  I can venture several guesses as to why the Council Chief's daughter would hardly lack for teachers.  But may I ask why she was tutoring your friend Godric?  After all, from what I understand, his family is anything _but_ important."

Helga opened her mouth before she realized that she didn't know.  "She... well... I suppose... he needed it," she decided.  Had Lady Aeaeae been involved?  It wouldn't have made much sense, really, but Lady Aeaeae was already in control of everything _else_....

Lord Slytherin nodded.  "And he still needs it, does he not?"

"Very few people can claim to be any good at Transfiguration," said Helga.  "And only one person can claim to be the best Transfigurator in the world."

"And your friend Godric does?"

"Perhaps _he_ doesn't," said Helga.  "But Rowena thinks he is.  Even if she'd never say so aloud."

"And are you schooled in the art of Divination?" Lord Salazar asked with a trace of amusement.

Basil, whom she had seen gritting his teeth throughout the conversation, opened his mouth to speak.  Helga shot him a warning glance.  "No," she said, "but I know Rowena, and I know how she thinks."

"And how _does_ she think?"

She considered her answer.  "Very quickly," she said simply.  "And if you'll excuse me, Lord Slytherin, I believe this conversation is over."  She stood, and started out of the room, bowing her head briefly at him.  Basil followed her, watching Lord Slytherin uncertainly.

"You know," said Basil, "before he seemed so _nice_..."

"I think that's his job," Helga grumbled.  "They're all the same, aren't they?  Councilors, I mean.  I'm glad I'm not one of them."

Basil nodded agreement.  "Although I don't see why he's interested in Godric; it's not as though he's done anything wrong.  Seems decent enough to me.  Well, there was that thing at the feast."

Helga nodded.  "And Rowena, of course; he's obviously after something from her... what I want to know is what he wants from _us_..."

He blinked.  "What?"

"Don't you think he'd have thrown us out already if we weren't important?" Helga asked.  "What with you picking fights with _his son._  I don't trust him," she continued.  "Maybe Lady Aeaeae's dishonest, but at least she's as much as said that she has no use for either of us."

Basil appeared to be considering this.  "Yet," he added softly.

"Yet," she agreed.  "Hmph."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackmail! Murder! Unfounded speculation! Minor blasphemy!

After an uncomfortable night's sleep outdoors -- for Godric, at least, although there'd been just enough room for everyone else inside -- Rowena's little group had finally started on their way early the next morning.  They attracted many stares from the Muggle villagers, particularly Godric, who cringed every time somebody recognized him -- although this was mostly because he had been awoken by a small but palpably hostile group intent on discovering whether he would leave of his own accord, and if so, _when._  He had been reassuring them on this count when Rowena came out of the house, muzzy and confused, and he noticed that after that, she hadn't let him out of her sight or put away her wand until they left the village.

Helena, meanwhile, was delighted to have met real live Muggles for _real_, but was perfectly happy to leave having had the experience.  She had managed to bully her Transfiguration teacher into carrying her on one shoulder, to Jasper's whispered disapproval a disinterested shrug from Rowena.  "It's probably all he's good for," she snapped at one point.

After several hours' traipsing through the forest, coming out at the wrong spot, and starting off again, they managed to get to Gryffindor's Hollow.  It was common for Muggle villages to have small wizarding satellite communities, but due to the hostility of many Muggles, complex charms were often put on any paths between the two so that only the most determined travelers could get from one to the other.  So, upon reaching the village, the most anyone wanted to do was to sit and rest for a few moments, with the notable exception of Helena, upon whom the others had to keep a close eye.

The village had not changed notably over the year, with the exception of the Transfigurator's shop.  The picture-sign had been taken down, and a small written sign had now taken its place.  It read:

**Thaddeus Fudge:**

**Transfigurator**

**(retired)**

**By Appointment Only**

"As if an appointment would do anyone any good," observed Rowena, shaking her head.  "Come on, we're going to the inn."

Godric sighed.  "Oh, I don't want to go _there_ again," he said.  He'd been getting more and more tired of non-school people recognizing him, and shuddered to think what the patrons of the inn might say; not to mention the fact that Fudge _himself _might be there.  He didn't know what he'd say.

"Too bad," snapped Rowena.  "Come, Godric.  We're going to find Fudge."

"And what about me?" Jasper demanded.  "You're just going to leave me here while you meet Fudge?"

"Of course," said Rowena.  "You're going to stay here and watch Helena," said Rowena.

"_What?_"  Jasper seemed insulted by the idea of babysitting while others made plans; Godric would gladly have traded places with him, but he knew it wouldn't happen.

Rowena had no response for him except for an irritated "Godric!" and a beckoning wave of the hand.  Godric, reluctant but dutiful, followed.

When he'd ducked in the door of the inn, a silence descended over the previously loud room, and everyone stared.

"Godric!" exclaimed the proprietor after several seconds of looking him up and down.  "You're looking well.  I almost didn't recognize you!"

"I must have one of those faces," muttered Godric under his breath.

Rowena bit her lip, though she couldn't help but smirk.  "What was that?" someone else asked.

"Er, sorry?" Godric asked, unaccustomed to being listened to by anyone over the age of fourteen.  "I said it's been a long time since I came here," he said, nodding.

The patrons looked at each other, whispering things to each other that Godric, despite himself, strained to hear.  He caught phrases like "so much of himself" and "completely ungrateful," but decided not to comment.  Who knew?  Maybe he _was_ ungrateful.  "And who's your lady friend?" George the innkeeper asked.

Rowena rolled her eyes theatrically, as though she had rehearsed her answer, and when she opened her mouth, Godric realized -- trying not to laugh -- that she had been doing so all her life.  "Though I could hardly be considered a friend of his, I _am_ Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, daughter of the Chief of the Wizards' Council, descendant of the wise and noble --"

"Weren't you in here a while back yowlin' about some vampire or another?" George asked.

Rowena blinked.  "I don't yowl," she said, after a moment's consideration.

"Let's hope not," said George.  "Anyway, d'you want a room?"

"Rooms.  _Plural._  Three," she said stiffly.

"We've got three rooms," said George, "but I don't know how plural they are.  Sounds dangerous, if you ask me.  You got somebody else with you?"

She nodded.  "Of course.  And could one of you tell me where Thaddeus Fudge might be found?"

"He's usually at home.  By appointment only," supplied George.  "Oh, and he'll be happy to see you," he shouted up at Godric, who could hear perfectly well.  "Says he misses you.  Can't say why myself, but there you go."

Rowena, looking slightly irritated, gave a sharp nod at the door and said, "Well, we'll be going."  She left the inn, Godric trailing after her.

Outside, they found Jasper and Helena playing an expanded version of naughts and crosses in the dust, both of them looking disgusted.  "Perhaps we should lock them up in one of the rooms," Godric hissed, so that only Rowena could hear.

She shook her head imperceptibly.  "They'd hate that.  Which do you think would survive?"

Godric watched as Jasper noted their presence and nodded.  While he was thus distracted, however, Helena had replaced his circle with her own X.  "Helena, probably," he said.

She nodded again, a hint of pride showing in her expression.  "Yes, probably," she agreed.  Jasper pointed something in the forest out to Helena, who turned for a moment to frown into the gloom while Jasper took an extra two turns.  "Though I think she still needs to learn what she can and cannot get away with," Rowena added.

"They're cheating, you know," Godric said, pointing out the obvious.  "Aren't you going to say anything about it?"

Rowena stared at him for a moment before replying.  "They're being creative in applying the rules," she said.  "It's a valuable skill.  Besides, it makes the game more interesting," she added.  Turning towards the two, she announced in a louder voice, "We'll just be going to visit Master Fudge.  Helena, be good, and remember who writes your Arithmancy marks."

At this, Helena stared glumly at the marks in the dust, but waved at her mother nonetheless.

"Creative in applying the rules?" Godric asked, as they wandered over to Fudge's door.

"Sometimes it's best not to be _too _creative, lest other, more powerful persons become inspired by the example," said Rowena.  "With that in mind, you first," she said, pointing at Fudge's door expectantly.

Godric made a face.  And things had been going so well, too: Rowena had even been civil -- no, almost friendly -- to him, for once.  "Rowena, do we really need to --"

"Yes, we really need to.  In fact, if we don't, we really won't get a chance to, or even be permitted to, because my dear mother will find some way to ensure that we don't."

"Which will result in...?"

"Her filling the vacancy in the Council with none other than our own dear Thaddeus Fudge himself.  Who won't be pleased to have you outside of his control, since his position in the Council will have been earned by reputation alone.  And if he bullied you with_out_ a seat in the Council, imagine what he can do _with_ one."

"What about Lord Salazar?" Godric asked.  True, there'd been that outburst... he hadn't really spoken to Lord Salazar afterwards, but then he hadn't really spoken to Lord Salazar before it either.  And he hadn't been thrown out yet, which, considering his luck in almost everything _before _the school, Godric was prone to interpret as a good sign.

Rowena blinked.  "What about him?  He's got supporters, all right, but there's a reason Mum's the Chief of the Council and he's not.  Not yet, at least," she said.

"Oh," said Godric, digesting all of this.  He wasn't accustomed to thinking like this; he much preferred Transfiguration, where, if he wasn't completely free of danger, he at least knew what would happen if he overestimated his skill.  Whereas, in this area, all he knew was that he knew absolutely nothing, and that Rowena, while considerably more knowledgeable than him, was neither trustworthy nor omniscient.

"You didn't get that at all, did you?" she asked irritably after a moment.

"Sort of, but... not really, no," Godric admitted.

"Lucky you," she grumbled.  "You knock.  It'll be louder," she added, pointing at the door.

Deciding that there was no way of avoiding it, Godric pounded on the door.

It opened slowly, and a wrinkled face topped with grey hair peered out at them.  "I'm not... Godric?"  Blinking, the man looked up at him.

Rowena stepped forward.  "Yes, I think we can safely assume that you are _not_ Godric.  Are you, by any chance, Thaddeus Fudge?"

The man drew himself up to his full height, which, even if it had topped Rowena's, could hardly have intimidated her with Godric standing there.  "I don't know who you are," he snapped at Rowena, "but I am indeed Thaddeus Fudge, and I have no desire to be intimidated by an illiterate such as yourself.  Or can't you read the sign?"  He looked up at Godric, possibly to give him some order, but, before he could open his mouth, he was pushed back into his house by an unseen force.

Rowena had drawn her wand, and was staring lividly at something, presumably Fudge.  She marched in, and Godric hurriedly followed her, determined to keep Rowena out of trouble.

"You -- you despicable -- you scummy, maggoty little commoner -- how _dare_ you speak to me like that, you _miserable _little liar of a man," she hissed, circling around Fudge like a vulture.  Fudge himself, it seemed, had only just found his footing after being knocked to the floor by a spell.  He looked around wildly, then darted behind Godric so that Rowena couldn't get to him.

"Don't just _stand_ there, boy!  Get rid of the madwoman!" he shouted at Godric.

Godric regarded him placidly for a moment, and then discovered within himself an inner streak of cruelty he'd never realized he had, though he would later decide that his meeting with John the bully had brought it to life.  He stepped aside, remarking, "Horrible low ceilings you have around here," then continued speaking.  "I don't believe you've been introduced to my new employer, Master Fudge.  This is _Lady_ Rowena Ravenclaw, daughter of the current Chief of the Wizard's Council," he explained sing-songily, rolling his eyes.  "Didn't you attend a feast at her husband's castle once?  You took me along to carry baggage, too," he added helpfully.  "I remember it very well, because I had to sit in the corner with the dogs while everyone else ate.  I did _tell_ you I knew her."

Fudge stared at Rowena, open-mouthed.  Then he seemed to shrink back into the shadows.  "Ah.  Er.  Ahem.  So sorry, milady, you must excuse -- it's just that the sign -- I didn't -- quite a lot of familial resemblance, once you -- I mean, er, yes, of course I remember you, it's just been so long since -- er -- um -- how is _Lord_ Ravenclaw doing these days?" he inquired hopefully.

"Not well," said Rowena.  "He's been very dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear --"

"Don't bother to be," Rowena said nastily.  "At any rate, you can forget my mother's orders."

It took him a moment to answer this.  "What?" he asked, looking inexplicably relieved.

"You can forget her orders," repeated Rowena.  "She'd have owled you, but owls, as you know, can be intercepted.  _I_ cannot, particularly not with Godric here," she said, nodding at Godric.  "He's very useful for getting rid of nuisances," she added.

Fudge looked terrified at this remark, and edged away from Godric slightly.  He shot a pleading look up at Godric -- _But _I'm_ not a nuisance, am I?_

Feeling slightly uneasy at this -- after all, it wasn't as though Fudge had ever hurt him -- not with any physical force, at least -- Godric inwardly cringed.

"And another thing," said Rowena, and both men looked at her with surprise.  "I couldn't help but wonder if you knew about the school."

Godric opened his mouth to ask her what she thought she was doing, but she gave him a fierce glare, and continued.

"As it happens, an institution such as a school needs rather a lot of money before it becomes stable.  It occurs to me that you _have_ rather a lot of money.  Mine, I must admit, is all tied up at the moment in other projects.  But the school's really a very good cause, as Godric here can tell you.  He teaches Transfiguration," she added, with a small nod, "and he's really quite good at it.  _Almost _as good as you were back in your prime -- but now I suppose that's over -- a pity, we all agree.  At any rate, any -- strictly _voluntary_ \-- contributions would be very much appreciated."

Fudge looked from Rowena to Godric, then back to Rowena.  "Ah.  Yes.  A noble cause.  Er.  Whom shall I owl?"

"That would be Godric," said Rowena quickly.  "He keeps track of these things.  He's very good at that, too."

Godric tried not to look confused; what was she blackmailing Fudge for if she wasn't taking the money?  Well, of course she was taking the money, he realized.  She'd just bully him for it once it arrived, and he, being himself, would willingly give it to her, all but thanking her for not hurting him.  He was so busy being disgusted with himself that he hardly noticed the weak smile and nod Fudge gave him.

"Of course," said Fudge quickly.  "In fact, er, perhaps, you'd like a small contribution now?"

"That would be lovely," said Rowena, with a thin smile.  "Wouldn't it?"  She looked expectantly up at Godric.

"What?  Oh, yes," said Godric quickly, watching Fudge back out of the room and into another.  He'd been trying to work out how much money Fudge had made, and how much Fudge would still have.  He'd guessed that Fudge would still have a sizeable amount of the gold left, considering how miserly he'd always been, and how small this horrible house was -- Godric barely had enough room to _breathe_, much less stand up properly.  His back was starting to hurt, and he remembered how glad he'd been to live at the castle, with its high ceilings and space.

Fudge had hurried back from his other room by now, and held out a small, jingling bag to Rowena, who snatched it.  She nodded sharply at Fudge and then she turned to Godric.  "I think we've taken up enough of Master Fudge's valuable time, don't you?"

Godric nodded quickly, and sacrificed politeness for speed in leaving the house.

When they'd emerged, he looked up at the sky in relief.  "Dear God, that place was terrible," he said.

"I think there's some sort of spell on it," said Rowena.  "Mum might've put it there to make him more amenable to whatever her requests were.  I don't think he's bright enough to have managed it himself.  Imagine," she continued, "calling _me_ illiterate.  The _nerve_..."

He waited until her muttering had calmed down a bit before asking, very hesitantly, "What do you think she _did_ ask of him?"

"That," said Rowena, "is a very good question.  I intend to find out."  She glanced at Helena and Jasper, then turned back to him, her determined expression melting into a thoughtful one.  "I don't remember you being at the feast with Fudge," she said.

"I, er."  He hadn't been prepared for a question like that.  He had gone wondering if Rowena was there, hoping she would see him and maybe talk to him, but they hadn't exactly been _friends_.  "I don't think you recognized me," he said.  "You looked... upset.  Or ill or something, I don't know.  I mean, I considered saying something, but I was supposed to keep more or less out of sight, and why would you want to even talk to --"

"I was pregnant, actually," said Rowena.  "So you were mostly right.  It was early, though, so I suppose I might've just looked, er... uncharacteristically shapely."  She went a bit pink.

"Oh," said Godric.  "That explains a lot, then.  I just thought you looked glum, and you probably didn't need any more irritation, and I know you don't like me.  I thought it might've been nice to have someone to talk to, is all."

Rowena looked as though she might cry -- it was the way she had looked back then, too -- and Godric thought he must have said something horribly insensitive by accident.  But she only swallowed and said "It would have been.  But it was a long time ago."  She sighed, and tried to sound cheerful.  "At any rate, we've temporarily stopped my mum and Fudge.  But you know Fudge better than I do -- do let me know if you've any idea _what_ we've stopped them fromdoing."

And she said no more, except to call Helena and Jasper over so that they could make preparations to leave as early as possible tomorrow morning.

* * *

Their party arrived back at the castle very early in the morning, and when they walked into the Great Hall, Lord Slytherin and the Hufflepuffs were still having breakfast.  Godric sensed some sort of tension, which took no great expertise, as Lord Slytherin was bravely eating at the middle of the table, while the Hufflepuffs were slightly off to the side, peering at him with caution and morning crankiness.

He opened his mouth to say something about it to Rowena, but then Jasper started rattling about how horrible their trip had been, and how they'd been lost, and how unpleasant the inn was, and how the universe had conspired against them for various unjust reasons.

Rowena merely rolled her eyes, shook her head, and dragged Helena up to the breakfast table.  Godric trudged warily after, sitting opposite Helga and Basil, and frowning at the silent Lord Slytherin.

"Helena, don't play with your food.  How old are you now?" Rowena snapped.  Helena looked up briefly, shrugged, and went back to erecting a small hut with her food.  Her mother made no effort to stop her, but instead nudged Helga.  "What's happened?"

Helga frowned.  "What do you mean, what's happened?" she asked crankily.

Godric nodded surreptitiously at Lord Slytherin, who was deep in conversation with Jasper now.  "With him.  He didn't say anything about throwing me out, did he?" he whispered.

Basil shook his head.  "Not you.  If he's not making us leave, why would he make you leave?"

"What do you mean?" Rowena asked.

Sighing, Helga said, "Look, he's using you for something, Rowena, and I don't like it.  But we're not going along with it and I think the best thing to do is just refuse to provide information."

Rowena, surprisingly, shrugged.  "Well, I don't see that he has much choice -- I suppose if you two leave, I will, but I'd rather not.  We've _got_ to have a patron, and I can't afford to be it."

"He's using you, though," said Helga.  "That doesn't bother you at all?"

She shook her head.

"Not even a little bit?"

"No," said Rowena.

"We don't even know what it's _for,_" put in Basil, a bit loudly; Helga hissed at him to be quiet.

"Of course we do," Rowena said.  "He wants to be Chief of the Council."

"Well, yes," said Helga, "but specifics would be nice."

"Wait," said Godric.  "I think you sort of lost me around the part where you were being used."

"_We_ are," said Helga.  "Including you.  _All_ of us.  I mean, he's got his trees from me, so he'd better treat me well, but you, Godric, he was asking about you too."

"Interrogating, more like," said Basil.

Godric frowned.  "But he's not making me leave?"

Helga sighed, and shook her head.  "Never mind, Runty."

"But he's not?"

"No, he's not," said Helga, rolling her eyes.  "But that's not the point.  You _should_ leave.  What if he wants you for some weird political thing that you don't want to do?"

"Well, like what?" Godric asked.  "I mean, he's _paying to feed me_ \-- which nobody's ever wanted to do, and I don't blame them -- I get somewhere to sleep, and I get access to books!  _Lots_ of them.  _I'm_ not going to complain.  He could make me carry boxes all day and I'd still be really pleased.  Books _and_ candles," he added.  "Do you know what it's like not to have candles?"

"You say that now but look," said Basil, "when I was in the Hunters' Guild they used to send inconveniently useless or curious or mad hunters on _special missions_, which invariably involved being ambushed by vampires or werewolves and bitten.  It was just to ensure that there would always be something for the rest of them to hunt.  What if it's something like that?" he asked.  "Or, or!  He does potions, right, but he's got no magic --"

"He hasn't got _no_ magic," snapped Rowena.  "His _sister_ was a Squib, but he's got magic.  He just hasn't got _much_ \--"

"So he's got _not much_ magic," Basil continued, "and you have loads!"  He gestured expansively.  "And what if he could take a potion that could give him loads of magic, only what he has to do is take you apart to see how magic works?"

"That _wouldn't work_," said Rowena, rolling her eyes.

"So let me get this straight," said Godric.  "My hypothetical choice is between slow miserable starvation, in a place where probably everyone is terrified of me and there are _no books_.  _Or!_  Being warm, and provided with the sort of luxuries most scholars can only _dream_ of, and having friends, and also, _possibly,_ being murdered?"

"...Well, when you put it like that, the murder plan _does_ sound pretty good," said Basil.  "I'd take murder, actually."

"Don't be _ridiculous,_" said Godric.  "I'd take him for all I could!  And run away at the first whiff of imminent murder, of course --"

"Of course," Basil agreed, seeing the sense in this.

"-- but I'd be a lot better off.  Anyone with that nonsensical a plan can't have thought out his murdering very well."

Rowena snorted, despite the topic of conversation.  "He's got a point, you know.  Murder is surprisingly difficult to pull off.  I mean, so I've heard."

"As amusing as the tangent was," said Helga, "the point is, we don't know what you lot are in for, and I just don't think that's acceptable."

"Why not?" Rowena asked.  "It's how everything else works."

"No it's not," said Helga.  "I mean, he could want you as a hostage.  He could want _me_ as a hostage -- and I owe it to my previous customers not to be so easily compromised."

"Well, you obviously already _have_ been, if you thought the man was offering us a castle out of the goodness of his heart," Rowena said.  "This is how reality works.  Anyone who does something for you wants _something _out of it_._"

"Oh, you're one to talk about reality, Rowena," said Helga.  "Have you ever actually _had_ to work?"

"Well, no, but --"

"And what do _you_ want us for, dare I ask?" she added.  "What do you think _I_ wanted to use _you_ for?"

"Oh come on, without me no one would have _heard_ of you," snapped Rowena, losing her temper.  "You're just some witch's bastard daughter who's good with plants, but you grew up with _me_, so you met my mum, and of _course_ everyone wants their carnivorous plants done by the Chief's security herbologist."

Helga took a deep breath.  "Well.  I see you're getting to be just as bad as her, aren't you?"  Then she left.

"You come back here and repeat that!" shouted Rowena, but Helga didn't even acknowledge her words.

Basil looked at his wife.  He shook his head, then glared back at Rowena.  "_Now_ look at what you've done."  Then he dashed after Helga.

As they stalked off, Godric frowned at his plate.  "I don't think that went very well at all."

"Shutup," she said bitterly.  "Fat lot of good _you_ did."

He decided he'd better not remind her that he'd _defended _her.  "You don't think she'll actually leave, do you?" he asked worriedly.  If she did, he'd be all alone in the castle among people he didn't know very well, except for Rowena, who was usually an enemy.

She glared.  "Of course she won't.  She'd never leave here.  She's _my _best friend, after all.  Just a bit ill-tempered at times.  She'll come to her senses.  Helena, what are you staring at?" she snapped suddenly.  "Finish what's on your plate!  There are starving Muggle children, you know."

"Why don't we send _them_ some food?" Helena grumbled.

"Because they're... they're too far away," Rowena snapped in frustration.  "It'd be impractical.  I don't know.  Just do what I say."

Godric wondered if she'd actually _heard_ any of the things she'd just said.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" he said.  "I'm not looking at you like _anything._"

She simply glared, apparently content to disbelieve him.

* * *

Her classes were going well, but Rowena felt like the castle was full of enemies.  There was Godric, of course, who presented very little threat, although she suspected that he was perhaps a bit more intelligent than she'd been giving him credit for.  But now she couldn't be certain of Helga, who had not left, but was apparently too busy to apologize.  Basil, of course, didn't matter much to her -- they'd never really got along much, anyway -- but he seemed more hostile than usual lately.  She thought that she'd be able to take him in a duel, but then, she rarely met people whom she considered capable of besting _her._

She'd withdrawn into the company of Lord Salazar and Jasper, who were nice enough, she supposed, but Jasper was almost childish in his self-assurance -- unlike herself, he had very little reason to suppose himself particularly clever, although he _had_ designed the castle -- and Lord Salazar gave the impression of waiting patiently.  What he was waiting for, she couldn't tell, but she had a feeling he wasn't about explain himself further.

One rather drizzly day, long after she'd tired of discussing magical theory with Jasper, Rowena decided that she'd had enough of social interaction for the day -- she sometimes wondered if maybe she wasn't very good at it -- and had gone in search of something she could read without being asked to think.

Wandering to a room she'd set aside as a library, though at the moment all it contained was her small private collection of books, Rowena swung open the heavy door, glad of the privacy it would offer.  But, to her dismay, there were _people_ there.  Namely, Helga, Basil, and Godric.  They looked up -- Godric giving a small, acknowledging nod, curse him -- and Rowena turned and walked away quickly, letting the door slam shut.

Resisting the urge to run, she stalked back to the Blue Common Room, stomping up the stairs to her bedroom at the top of the tower.

There she found Helena, sitting in the middle of her bed, finishing off Rowena's cache of sweets; the one that no one was supposed to know about.  "Oh," said Helena, sounding surprised.  She hid the jar behind her, and smiled quaveringly at Rowena.  "Hullo, Mum."

"Helena, get out of here!" she snapped.

Knowing her mother too well to argue, Helena rolled off the bed quickly and ran out of the room.  Rowena knew she was hiding just beyond it, but she didn't care.  She looked again at the empty and abandoned jar, which _had_ been filled with enchanted marzipan dragons that spat cinnamon.  It would've been nice to withdraw to some more comfortable spot and finish them off herself, but Helena had ruined that guilty pleasure for her.  Grumbling, she waved her wand at a spot on the floor, and watched as the spiral staircase slid out.

Ascending the staircase and unlocking the trapdoor, she stepped out into the rain.  This was the very top of the tower, and as she looked down at the rest of the castle she could see the whole of the school grounds.  She didn't _care_ how wet and miserable it was anymore.  She had every right to be wet and miserable along with the rest of the world, and at least the rain made everything smell nice.

* * *

Helena listened from outside the door, concerned.  Mum had her mad fits; it was true, but that only meant that Helena had to keep her from doing anything stupid.  When she stopped hearing cursing and muttering and stomping from the room, she pushed open the door, slowly, and peered in.

There was no one there, but the stairway to the trapdoor was extended.  Helena knew where that led, as she remembered her mother showing it to her after her first day at the school.  _You can see everything from here,_ she'd said.  _If anyone attacked, you and I would be the first people to know._  It hadn't turned out to be true, Helena reflected, but, of course, her mum had had no way of knowing that.  After that, she'd said, _You have to promise me, Helena, never to come out here alone.  All right?_

And Helena, with no intention of keeping this promise, had nodded and said, _Of course, Mum._

_Good girl,_ her mother had said, patting her on the back.  _I don't want you to fall off._

Biting her lip, Helena went back into her mother's bedroom.  She'd been behaving more and more unpredictably since her argument with Aunt Helga, and Helena had always worried for her health.  That was one reason she'd eaten the marzipan dragons -- Mum had always said that too much sugar was bad for little girls, but, if it was, then it must be just as bad for grown-ups, Helena reasoned.  Of course, Mum always said to other people that she didn't _like_ sweets, but she thought she could tell when Mum was lying and when she wasn't.

But there were more important things than sweets at stake, Helena decided.  Picking her way up the staircase, she tried to push open the trapdoor.  It didn't open.

Saying a few rude words she'd learned from her mother, she pushed against the trapdoor with more force.  It _still_ wouldn't open, and by now she was getting worried.  Light flashed across the room from the slit windows, and she jumped when she heard the thunder.

She _had _to find somebody to open the door.

* * *

Re-locking the trapdoor with her wand, Rowena walked to the edge and peered down through the battlements at the very long drop.  Even Rowena, who had never been afraid of heights, had to shiver at the thought of experiencing it.  She backed away quickly and looked up at the sky.

There was a blinding flash of light, and a crash of thunder soon followed it.  "Brilliant," she muttered, looking defiantly up at the black clouds.  When she had been little, her mother had insisted this meant that Zeus was upset with Rowena for not doing what her mother had said.  "Oh, shut up!" she shouted.  "You lot aren't even real, _are _you?  Go ahead -- show me you're there!  I _dare _you.  I'm not afraid of a lot of stories!"

The next flash of lightning brought her to her senses a bit.  Shouting at the gods was either useless or an exercise in stupidity, and she didn't want to be accused of doing something that was either one.  Sitting on the floor next to a battlement, she recalled the way she'd acted in the library.  _They were in _my_ territory, with _my_ books,_ she thought.__

But then another voice countered, _Yes, but I'd given it to the school.  I knew students would be using those books and getting _their _grubby little hands all over them.  If they can use it, why can't the teachers?_

She really had no reason to be angry.  It wasn't as though they'd done anything _wrong._  Well, they might have done it to upset her -- perhaps they were plotting against her -- who knew?  They could have been talking about her behind her back, spreading poisonous lies -- anything!

That didn't mean she had a right to deny them reading material, though.  Besides, they might have been talking innocently about anything.  Why would they care what she was doing?  None of them gave a damn about her, anyway.  Now thoroughly soaked and feeling very silly, she sighed and considered going back downstairs.  She decided that she had better find some dry clothes before dinner, so as not to humiliate herself.

_Wham!_  The trapdoor flew open of its own accord, and, as Rowena jumped back to watch, an arm emerged and grabbed the edge of the door.  Then Godric squeezed through the opening.  Getting to his feet, he closed the door again.  "Exactly what do you think you're doing?" he hissed, looming over her.  He seemed to have perfected the art of looming, and so Rowena found herself stepping back to the edge of the tower.

"I -- I came up here to think," she said, as lightning crackled above them.

"Do you know how _dangerous_ this is?" he demanded.  He looked away for a moment, then shuddered; Rowena noticed how careful he was to stay as close to the center and as far from the edge as possible.

"It's not all that bad," she said weakly.

"Oh _no,_ because standing on the top of a tower in the middle of a thunderstorm's not dangerous at _all!_" he shouted.

She shrank back, cringing.  She knew it was Godric, _only _Godric, but he was _shouting _at her and there was thunder and she was _cold._  She shivered, and backed away some more.

He dropped to his knees.  "Rowena, are you all right?" he asked, sounding more worried than angry.

She shook her head, silently.  Had she been in a better mood, she might have snapped, _That's a bloody stupid question,_ but right now she didn't even want to speak.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I didn't mean to frighten you like that."  He reached out to touch her arm, but she drew away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, glaring at him.

"Rowena, come on," he pleaded.  "Helena was in hysterics, she thought you were going to _jump_."

She blinked.  "Why in Hades would I want to do that?" she asked.

He shrugged.  "It's been known to happen sometimes.  Jasper says his aunt --"

"Well," she said, "_I _wouldn't do it.  I'm not stupid, after all."

"Rowena, it's the middle of a _thunderstorm_, you're on a _tower,_ and you were screaming at the sky earlier.  We all heard you.  What exactly were you going to do next?"

She glared at him again.  "Certainly not jump," she muttered.  "For your information, I was just getting ready to come back down when you barged in."

Godric pulled the trapdoor open again.  "Ladies first, then," he said grumpily, moving out of her way.  He was still on his hands and knees.

Rowena made her way through the trapdoor and down the stairs again, then shut the door behind her and locked it with a charm.  _Serves him right, frightening me like that,_ she thought viciously, knowing that lighting usually struck the tallest thing in the area.  She hoped it got him.  Wringing out a corner of her dress, she continued, dripping, down the stairs.  She stared at Helga and Basil, who were waiting there, Helena clutching Helga's hand.

At the sight of her mother, Helena sprang away from Helga and stood apart from her, eyes downcast.  Helga, meanwhile, simply stared at Rowena.  Basil crossed his arms.

"She was crying," he said, not kindly.  Helena made no move to acknowledge his words, but she did sniffle a bit.

"Well?" asked Helga.

Suddenly, Helena looked up.  "I'm sorry Mummy, I didn't mean to make you angry," she said very quickly.  Then she bit her lip.

Rowena rushed forward and took Helena in her arms.  "It's all right," she said, hugging her, and probably making her very wet in the process.  "It's all right.  I would never do that," she said.  "I wouldn't.  I'd never do that to you, not if I could help it.  And it wasn't your fault, either.  You think I'd do that just because you ate all my marzipan?" she asked, with a small, half-hearted smile.

She felt Helena shake her head, but all she heard her say was, "I was worried."

"Shh," whispered Rowena.  "It's all right now."

There was a huge crash from behind them, and Rowena looked over her shoulder to see what it was.  Godric jumped down from an opening, as rain drizzled down onto the remains of the trapdoor.  "For God's sake, Rowena, don't leave me up there!" he shouted.  "You _know_ I don't like heights!"  He was pale, shivering, and drenched, which was probably why he was not nearly as imposing as he'd been.

"Come on, Runty, and let her change," she heard Helga say, and Godric, dripping, walked past her.  "Rowena?" Helga asked.

Rowena looked back at her.

"If you scare us like that again," said Helga levelly, "I guarantee you that _one _of us -- possibly me, since Godric hasn't the heart -- will strangle you with their bare hands.  So don't do it."

Rowena nodded, irritable but, well, a bit guilty.  Helena was still clutching at her as the others filed out of the room.  "Don't worry, it's all right," she told Helena.  "Only you need to let go of me."

Helena released her, and sat on the floor, wiping at her eyes.

"Come and help me pick something to wear to dinner tonight," said Rowena.  "And after that we can go and get more sweets from the kitchens, all right?"

Helena nodded silently.  Then she spoke hesitantly.  "But I don't want any more sweets."

"One generally doesn't, after an ordeal," said Rowena.  "But my supply has mysteriously run out, it seems, and it must be refreshed."

This prompted a guilty grin from Helena.  "All right.  And... er... sorry."

"It's all right," Rowena assured her.  "Sometimes I_can_ do stupid things.  It's good not to have _too _much pride in oneself."

Fortunately, Rowena had busied herself with digging through a trunk, for had she been looking at Helena, she would have noticed her very skeptical look.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New students arrive, Godric despairs, and Salazar makes plans.

Devlin was just getting to his feet after having the wind knocked out of him by the Transport Key when someone behind him called his name and made him stumble again.

He got up and dusted himself off, then turned, already knowing who it was.  "Julian, you prat.  What's going on?" he asked.  He was _so_ glad to be back at the castle for his second year.  Summer had been awful.

"I had the _worst_ time back home," said Julian, rolling his eyes.  "We went to see Cassius where he's being fostered and he kept giving me this _look._  Wish I'd done better in Transfiguration, then I might have turned him into a slug."

"Ooh, I know what you mean," said Devlin, grimacing.  "Nobody back home would talk to me, 'cept my little brothers and Gwen and Alice."

"You almost have to pity them," said Julian.  "Poor ignorant Muggles."

Devlin wrinkled his nose.  "No, you don't.  Well, maybe _you_ might.  _I_ certainly don't.  I have to live with them."

"Perhaps," he said.  "Oh _no,_ there's Helena."  Julian grimaced.  "Watch your valuables," he said.

But Helena had merely wandered over quietly, looking downcast.  "Hullo," she said.

Julian and Devlin exchanged a Look.  _She's going to pull a snake out from behind her back,_ thought Devlin.  _Or make something explode behind us.  Or something._  "Er.  Hallo," he said, smiling widely.

She glared.  "Don't mock me.  I'm not stupid."

They exchanged another look.  "We never said you were," said Julian.

"I -- I don't want you to hate me," Helena said haltingly.

"We don't hate you," Julian said quickly.

"We just don't like you," Devlin added truthfully.  He watched her expression go from grave to shocked to angry.

"Devlin, you idiot!  Run!" shouted Julian, grabbing his arm.

As he generally knew good advice when he heard it, Devlin ran.

* * *

Helga watched as a shrieking Helena chased the two boys around the front of the castle.  "Ah, students," she said.  "I wonder what the new batch will be like."

"From what I understand," said Basil, "this year's group is a lot bigger than last year's.  I think Lord Slytherin managed to persuade some more of the magical nobles to send their children.  Even the Nigellus heir is attending, from what I've heard," he added.

"Is that a good thing?" asked Helga.

"Well, we won't know until we see them in class," Basil shrugged.  "Do you think he's planning on holding them hostage until they make him Chief?"

"Who, Slytherin?" Helga asked.  "Don't be ridiculous; he'll just play on parental concern.  If you trust someone with your children, it means you're not fooling around.  At least, I would _think _so.  It's probably a good foot in the door."

"Well, that's reassuring," said Basil.  He yawned; he was still feeling a bit woozy from the full moon three days ago.

"Are you all right?" Helga asked, worry in her eyes.

He laughed.  "Yes, you'd better call the Healers -- I'm _yawning._"

"Well, you know what I mean," she said.  "I can't help worrying.  Anyway, we'd better go and let them know we're here, otherwise Helena's likely to kill those two, and then Godric would never forgive me."

"Why not?" Basil asked.

She shrugged.  "Apparently Devlin's got some talent with Transfiguration.  Now, if only I could get someone who was that good with Herbology," she sighed.  "_Then_ I'd be happy."

Basil nodded.  "I know the feeling," he said.

* * *

But Devlin and Julian had already headed into the castle, entertaining hopes of dodging the now-shrieking Helena by ducking into a room.  Running full-speed down the halls, neither of them saw the figure in front of them until it was too late.

With an "Oof!" Julian fell to the ground.  He looked up, and saw a boy who appeared to be several years older than himself.  He also looked angry.  "I'm sorry, I wasn't --"

He was cut off when the boy grabbed him by the front of his robes, picked him up, and pushed him against the wall with his left hand whilst brandishing his wand with his right.  "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm Julian de Malfoie," Julian said.  He wasn't the most important student, certainly -- that was Filch -- but everyone _knew who he was._

The other boy snorted.  "You probably made up your surname on the way here.  _Why_ did you run _into_ me?"

"Er.  It was sort of an accident," managed Julian.

"Don't be smart with me!"

"It's hard not to be.  Let him go!" he heard Devlin say from somewhere behind the older boy.  Two hands grabbed at the boy's neck and pulled frantically at it.  Taking the opportunity, Julian managed to struggle free, but now the boy had a hold of Devlin.

"I know you," Helena said suddenly, looking them up and down.

"Of course you know me," Julian said.

"No, not _you,_" she said, rolling her eyes.  "_Him._  He's a Nigellus.  Alioth Nigellus."

The boy -- Alioth, Julian supposed, and if _he'd_ been made fun of for Julian, 'Alioth' was even worse -- released Devlin and turned toward Helena.  "That's right," he said, a small and discomforting smile playing across his features.  "Alioth Nigellus. Are you the Aeaeae girl?"

Helena regarded him seriously.  "_My_ surname is Ravenclaw," she said stiffly.

"So it is, but Aeaeae's a better name.  Are you really descended from Circe of Aeaeae?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, shrugging.  "I wasn't there.  What does it matter?"

"She was a great historical figure!"

"I hate history," Helena said.  "Besides," she added, "she had that weird... pig thing going on, and she's _dead_, so why should I care about her?  Also, I think someone forgot to tell you that people _are_ supposed to bathe once a year.  I know they say it's bad for you, but --"

Alioth's face turned purple, and he sent a hex at her, but she ducked out of the way just in time.

Julian rushed forward.  "You can't hit a girl!" he shouted, jumping in between them.

Devlin grabbed his arm.  "Yes, he can," he said, pulling him out of the way.  "And we can leave."

"No, he _can't!_" Julian protested.

"_Yes_, he _can,_" Devlin said firmly.

"No, he can't!"

"Yes, he --"

"Yes, he can!" Helena insisted, sending a few blue sparks out of her wand.  "It means I can hit him _back!_"

"She's right, you know," Devlin hissed.

Julian frowned at Helena, who was now charging at Alioth Nigellus, wand raised.  "Yes, he can.  Though he shouldn't.  And we won't.  But I'm out of breath.  And they're distracted.  So we should rest."  He sank to the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Right.  Good idea," said Devlin, joining him.

"_Expelliarmus!_" shouted Alioth, sending a jet of light at Helena, who ducked.

"We never learned _that _one," said Devlin, frowning.  "I wonder what it does."

"It's a disarm-y something," Julian said, remembering bits and pieces of Latin.  "I tried it once on a suit of armor, but it only works on people.  _Expelliarmus!_" he said, waving his wand at Alioth, and concentrating on trying to disarm him.

The curse caught Alioth by surprise: it hit him in the side, and his wand flew out of his grasp and into Julian's hand.

"All right, that's something we ought to be learning," said Devlin, who looked thoroughly impressed.  "Maybe if we whine at Professor Hufflepuff enough then he'll teach it to us."

"Maybe," started Julian, but Helena interrupted him.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded.

He blinked.  "I wanted to see how the spell worked."

"Now it's not even a fair duel!" she complained.

"Well, no," he admitted.  "But he's irritating."

"Watch it, you little --" started Alioth.

Helena jabbed him in the ribs with her wand.  "We're armed, and you're not.  I'd shut up if I were you."

"This school is run by _savages,_" complained Alioth.

"Very savage ones, you'll find.  If you're lucky, we won't start wondering whether your bone marrow tastes good," said Devlin with a malicious grin.  "What should we do with him?" he asked, looking at Julian.

"We could escort him to his first class," said Helena, butting in again.  She poked him in the ribs again.  "What's your first class?"

He looked around at them, suspiciously.  "Transfiguration.  Why?  ...look, just give me back my wand and I won't wipe the floor with you little snots."

The other three ignored his insults, instead exchanging a gleeful look.  "Transfiguration, hmm?" Devlin asked.  "Has anyone told you about the demon professor?"

"No," said Alioth, frowning.  "I don't believe you.  You're just trying to frighten me."  Though from the way he looked, it was working.

"Oh no," Julian said, shaking his head earnestly.  "He's not lying at all.  Fearsome, the demon professor is.  He ate two of the students last year."

"_Three,_" said Helena.  "You forgot Winifred."

"Ah, yes," Julian nodded, solemnly.  "Poor Winifred.  May her soul rest in peace."

"You're not... _serious,_" Alioth said.  "Right?"

Devlin smiled nastily.  "Only one way to find out.  Transfiguration's this way."

* * *

As he rushed down the stairs, Godric hoped that this wasn't going to become a habit.  Why, of all days, did he have to be late to his class on the first day of school?  He'd always had generally rotten luck, but he wished the universe had thought to give him some explanation for its unusual cruelty.  Perhaps, he thought, turning and rushing down the corridor, he was some sort of repository for all of the world's unused bad luck.  It was almost too bad he couldn't collect it and sell it; people could slip it into their enemies' dinner and watch as they got food all down their fronts.  It would be entertainment and revenge all in one neat little package.

Unfortunately, this didn't change the fact that he was late.  He came to a halt as he saw four small figures up ahead.  "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" he asked of them.  He'd known Devlin immediately because of his red hair, but it was only now that he saw Helena and Julian were with him -- though he'd guessed the blond boy had been Julian simply because the two boys were near-inseparable.

But that _didn't_ explain the obviously terrified older boy they were holding at wandpoint.

"Oh, hullo, Professor," said Devlin, waving cheerfully.  "This is Alioth Nigellus," he said, pointing at the frightened boy.

Alioth Nigellus opened his mouth to say something, choked, and backed into Julian, who elbowed him.  "Watch where you're going!" snapped Julian.

Godric narrowed his eyes.  "Exactly what have you been telling him?"

The three exchanged a dark look.  "Nothing," said Helena promptly.  "Right?"

Devlin and Julian nodded in tandem.

"Alioth?" Godric asked lightly.

The boy stared.  "I thought you were lying," he whispered -- presumably to the others.  "I hoped you were.  But you aren't.  ..._give me back my wand!  _I know a spell that --"

Godric raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to finish his sentence.  The boy gulped.  Then Godric turned to Devlin, Julian, and Helena.  "This is that demon professor nonsense again, isn't it?" he asked.  "It's bad enough when nobody knows better, but _you three_ certainly do.  And you've taken this poor boy's wand, too.  I will _not_ tolerate bullying in this school, is that clear?  And I'm very disappointed in the three of you," he snapped.  _Did I just say that?_ he wondered.  _I'm turning into Helga's mum or something.  How terrifying.  And I shouldn't be saying it anyway, what with what I did to poor Master Fudge.  Even if he deserved it._

"But he --" began Devlin.

"I don't _care_ what he said or did," snapped Godric.  "You're not going to do it again, and if I find out you told anybody else that lie, you're going to get worse punishments than you are already.  All right?  Good," he said, giving them no time to protest.  "Devlin, give him back his wand."

Shivering, Devlin held out the wand to Alioth, who snatched it back, then glared at them.  "Ha!  I always knew you were lying," he said shakily.  "I was just playing along."

Devlin looked as though he wanted to say something rude, but knew better than to do it while his Transfiguration professor was standing there.

"Now get to Herbology, all of you," Godric ordered.  The three all but turned and ran, although he heard Helena ask, "But don't we have _Charms_ first this year?"  Shaking his head and cursing his terrible memory, Godric turned to look at Alioth Nigellus.  "What's your first class?"

Alioth looked up at him again; he was probably fighting the urge to stare, Godric thought.  "Er.  Transfiguration.  I don't know where that is, but I'm probably late and they were saying the professor who taught it was horrible -- though he couldn't have been as horrible as they --"

"Don't worry," said Godric.  "I can assure you that the professor who teaches it is not only _incredibly_ late, but will not be angry at you.  Although I suppose he _might _be horrible.  I wouldn't know.  I rather hope not, however, if only for my own sake.  Come with me; I'll show you to the Transfiguration classroom.  I happen to be on my way there myself."

* * *

Basil watched his second and last class of the day leave.  Some were promising, he admitted: Lord Slytherin's prize, the Nigellus heir, was surprisingly good with his curses, though his defense seemed to be based mainly on the hope that no one would dare attack _him._

Basil grinned lopsidedly at this.  Back before he'd been bitten, he'd been a duelist and a hunter of Dark creatures.  It was this second that gave him both his quick reflexes and his current affliction, but he'd also put his skills to use in the dueling ring, and had been quite good -- though, of course, he had to stop afterwards: because they were so difficult to kill, people seemed to think that werewolves had an unfair advantage in the dueling ring.

At any rate, as a duelist, a good half of his opponents had been bored, rich, and good at everything but _real_ strategy.  This, to Basil, was being ready for anything, while having a good idea of what the other fellow was going to try and do to you.  Alas, none of that lot had had much else on their minds except for beating him and then bragging about it later.

All of which it was now his job to prevent.  It would be difficult with the Nigellus boy, who seemed earnest but lazy.  Basil thought he could do it, though, perhaps through moderate humiliation and hard work.  What it really depended on, of course, was the boy's willingness to learn, something that he couldn't judge in a single class.

Imagining his vicarious return to the dueling ring, he yawned and stood.  He thought he'd better go and talk to Helga: she'd still been worried about him, and it wouldn't do to have her thinking that he'd fallen asleep in his classroom, and might, horror of horrors, miss lunch.  He shook his head.

Basil walked through the hallways lazily, humming to himself.  He frowned, however, when he heard a crashing noise from up ahead, and quickened his pace somewhat.  When he got to the source of the noise, however, he knew that he needn't have worried.

Godric stood glaring at a classroom doorway, rattling the doorknob.  As Basil watched, he pulled out his wand and shot what seemed to be a generic Unlocking Charm at it.

Basil cleared his throat, and stepped forward.  "Isn't that the Charms classroom?" he asked curiously.

Godric looked at him.  "What?  Oh, that?  Er... well... actually, yes, it is.  It won't let me in," he added, though Basil thought this was rather obvious.  He studied the door, and the magic on it.  He had to admit to himself that as much as he hated being a werewolf, the curse had its occasional benefits.  Before, when he'd blindly put wards around things, he'd never been able to tell whether they had leaks or not, but now he could find the weaknesses in every ward and spell.

Even had the wards on the classroom not been blue-green, it was obvious that they'd been put up by the Arithmancer.  His wards were like giant nets: methodical, even, and fairly sturdy to the common, blind wardbreaker.  Neatly knotted into the middle of the net of magic protecting the doorway was a scrap of weak red magic.  The shade almost matched Godric's aura, but not quite.  Just behind this net was a large bar about ten feet off the ground.  If Godric had ducked, he might've been able to get past it, but then the net would have stopped him anyway.

"Hmm," said Basil, frowning.  "Your best bet would be to blast through the wall to the side," he said.  "You'd never make it through those wards.  They're specific to you."

Godric looked worried.  "But isn't that dangerous?"

"Probably, yes," Basil agreed.  "But _you're _trying to break into Her Highness' classroom."

At this, Godric half-grinned.  "Yes, well, I'd hoped I wouldn't have to be too literal.  Besides, if I took out one of her walls, she'd almost certainly kill me.  And I don't know any spells that would work."

"I could take down the wall," offered Basil.  "Then she'd go after me."

"No," said Godric.  "She'd assume it was me anyway."

"I thought she prided herself on her logic?"

"Yes, well, she _also_ prides herself on her flying fireballs," Godric pointed out.  "I think she prides herself on those more than she does on the logic."

"Oh, don't worry about those," said Basil.  "They're not real."

Godric blinked.  "Really?  They're not real?  They look _really_ real to me.  They feel real, too, but I have good reflexes, so I've always been able to duck."

"They're just illusions," said Basil, shaking his head.  "Well, _mostly._  I think about every tenth one is real.  It takes a lot out of you, throwing real fireballs around at people who you don't want dead."

"That's not very reassuring," said Godric.  "Anyway, it would really help more if you could take the wards down.  Can you do that?"

Basil considered the problem for a moment.  "Well..." he started, "Helga will probably kill me but... all right," he said, shrugging.  "Our dear and beloved Lady Ravenclaw is getting on my nerves almost as much as she's getting on yours.  She acts like she's better with spells than anyone, but I'd like to see her duel.  I mean, I could beat her easily.  Of course, Helga would kill me worse then," he admitted, "and it wouldn't really be worth it, so I don't think I'll bother.  Why do people put up with her, anyway?" he asked.

It was a few moments before Godric answered.  "...you know, I'm not entirely certain myself.  But I think she's been through a lot."

"That's what Helga says," said Basil, rolling his eyes.  "You people are all mad.  But if you want the wards down..."  He sighed and began to work on taking the Arithmancer's wards down.

* * *

"Father!"

Lord Salazar turned to see his apparently overwrought son enter the room.  Occasionally, he wished that Jasper would simply settle down and become ...wrought.  Or whatever was a bit less than overwrought and not yet underwrought.  It didn't matter much that it wasn't a real word: if he could convince himself that it ought to be, he'd done his job.  "Yes?" he asked patiently, sweeping a couple of bat spleens into a jar.

"That lunatic has taken down my wards!" said Jasper.

"Jasper," sighed Salazar, "there are an inordinate number of lunatics living in this castle.  Which one are you talking about this time?"

"_You_ know.  The _lycanthrope,_"Jasper said.  "The _literal_ lunatic.  He's taken down my wards!"

Salazar frowned.  He didn't think Hufflepuff would do such a thing, but if he had then actions would need to be taken.  Preferably by Salazar himself.  "The ones around the castle?" he asked.

"No, of course not," snapped Jasper.  "Even _he's_ not that mad.  The ones on the Charms classroom."

"To keep the Transfigurator out?" Salazar asked; he'd worried when he saw how Ophelia Aeaeae's daughter and the Transfigurator had argued, and about his son's spats with Hufflepuff, but in the end all these things had their uses.  Although silently he wondered at Jasper's interest in the Aeaeae girl.  Salazar had once been engaged to Ophelia Aeaeae, and he considered himself _very_ lucky to have come to his senses and eloped with Ceridwen before the marriage could take place.

"Yes, _those_ wards," said Jasper, who seemed determined to take this as a personal affront.  "_Obviously_ they were put there for a reason, but of _course_ he takes them down; I expect it's only out of spite --"

"Jasper," said Salazar, "will you please calm down?"

"But they --"

"What would you like me to do about it?  Have him executed?  Poison him?  Send him a stern reprimand?  What?"

He'd begun to regret having coddled the boy so much, but considering what had happened to Ceridwen, Salazar felt it was owed.  At any rate, Jasper seemed much happier now.

Jasper grimaced.  "No, I suppose not.  I'll go and repair them myself.  And this time I suppose I'll have to make them stronger."

"That would be a good idea," said Salazar.  "Why don't you go and do so?  I have a class to prepare for."

Jasper rolled his eyes.  "Yes, Father."  He left.

It was only then that Salazar allowed himself a small smile.  Such a large concentration of both talent and rivalry inevitably led up to _something_ happening.  All it had required was a bit of nudging the Hufflepuffs away from the Aeaeae girl, and a generally healthy practice of seeming to Look The Other Way while really keeping a close eye on things.  It was very amusing -- not to mention useful -- the way these half-children thought they could keep secrets.  And now the arms race had begun.

If it didn't destroy the castle, Salazar reflected, it would almost surely make the school -- and therefore Salazar -- a force to be reckoned with.  Now all he had to do was provoke Ophelia into showing her madness to the Council.  Which shouldn't be too difficult at all, considering how close it was to the surface.


	11. Chapter 11

Rowena was becoming increasingly distressed.  Not only was Helga not speaking to her -- well, not very much, though there was the occasional "Good morning" -- but she wasn't making any progress with the _Voluma Animaguum_.  She had almost forgot about it, what with all of the other madness going on around her, and returning to it was difficult.

Also, Godric seemed to have found a way around Jasper's wards.  The third day in a row that she'd opened her drawer to find that all her quills had been turned into white mice, she had gone to shriek at Jasper, who had explained that he'd been working on fixing the problem, and that it was all Basil's fault.  This had, hopefully, bought her a few days' peace from Godric's interferences, though she couldn't say they were entirely undeserved.  She had, after all, been practicing her Tripping Curses on an oblivious Godric -- being certain, of course, to berate him for his clumsiness whenever she was successful.

That still left the problem of being very, very lonely, though.  No matter how much she tried to convince herself that she could live only on teaching, reading, and rage, it didn't seem to be working nearly as well as it should have, and so she had taken to wandering the halls of the school when she couldn't concentrate any more.

It was on one of these excursions that she met Lord Salazar, who was just leaving his classroom.  "Ah," he said, "I'd been meaning to talk to you.  Would you mind coming in for a few minutes?"

Having nothing better to do, Rowena mentally shrugged, and shook her head.  "My next class isn't for a while."

Lord Salazar nodded, and motioned her in.  Then he said, "Peeves, see that there are no eavesdroppers."

With some shock, Rowena watched as the goblin emerged from the shadows.  She hadn't seen him at all, and it was beginning to bother her.  Had she ever been followed by Peeves?  She hoped not.  But that was silly; only Godric was afraid of Peeves, and Godric was an idiot.

When Peeves had gone, Lord Salazar closed the door.  "Please, sit down," he said, not unkindly.  She sat on one of the student's desks.  "Tell me," he asked, "do you ever owl your mother?"

Rowena wrinkled her nose.  "We don't exactly get on," she said.

"So I had gathered," Lord Salazar said.  She couldn't quite tell if he found this amusing or not.  "But do you ever owl her?"

"Occasionally," said Rowena, frowning.  "_Mostly _it's to tell her I don't want to get married..."  She hesitated. Lately, she'd been owling her mother to tell her she'd had nothing to do with Thaddeus Fudge's sudden reluctance to do... whatever Mother had asked him to do.  But she knew that neither Mother nor Lord Salazar would have wanted her to interfere with _that;_ Mother because she had Fudge in her pocket, and Lord Salazar because he had a _real_ Transfigurator in his castle , and probably wanted her to keep thinking Fudge was useful.  She'd done it mostly to keep Godric out of trouble, although it hadn't been a terribly wise service to perform for one's rival.  He seemed not to have noticed at all, though.

"Mostly?" Lord Salazar asked her, interrupting her thoughts.

"Well, she's convinced that I went and reprimanded Fudge for something," she said, trying to look innocent.

"And _did_ you?" he asked.  She wished she could glare.  He was _definitely_ amused.

"Possibly," said Rowena.  He would probably be more upset if she lied, she decided.

"How specific of you," said Lord Salazar.  "But it doesn't matter.  Is she in the habit of believing you?"

Rowena stared at him as though he had walnuts for eyes.

"Apparently not," he concluded.  "At any rate, I was wondering if it would be possible for you to tell her I wasn't gathering an army."

It took several seconds for this to sink in.  "What?" she asked.  "You're gathering an army?  You can't do that!  Well, you can, but you _really_ shouldn't, because --"

Here was that damned amusement again.  "Lady Ravenclaw, I suggest that you calm down.  May I ask who it was that said I was gathering an army?"

"But -- you just _said _\--"

"I asked you to tell her that I wasn't," said Lord Salazar.  "In fact, if you could deny _rumors_ that I was, that might be better.  Yes... yes, I think it would add a certain veracity to the statement."

"But I've never _heard_ those rumors!" said Rowena.  "There were rumors?"

"No," said Lord Salazar.  "Well, not that I _know_ of.  It's very possible there were rumors that Peeves and his team haven't picked up."

"Peeves and his _team?_" Rowena asked.

"My late wife managed to capture a small tribe during the last goblin rebellion, before she was killed," said Lord Salazar.  A flash of pain passed over his face, but it was gone quickly, as he continued.  "Peeves was the least important goblin in the tribe.  The runt of the litter, I suppose you could say.  As this gave him a strong motivation to gain a protector by learning the language, he's become my intermediary.  I think you'll agree when I say that it's very important for a man in my position to be well-informed."

Rowena nodded.  "But why do you want Mu-- my mother to think you're raising an army?  And _are_ you raising one?"

Lord Salazar smiled thinly.  "Does it matter?  Your help is most appreciated, by the way," he said.

She sighed.  "You're welcome," she said irritably, not meaning it at all.

* * *

Devlin, Julian, and Helena, meanwhile, were serving their detentions in the Transfiguration classroom.  They'd been given the unpleasant task of cleaning out several large tanks of frogs, which they were going to be learning how to turn into fish during some class or another.  Julian and Helena had delegated the task of frog handler to Devlin, who was not at all suited to his job, and it was becoming increasingly evident that not one of the three knew what they were doing.

"Just dump them into that tank there!" Helena snapped at Devlin.

He looked doubtfully at the other tank.  "But what if he wants specific frogs in specific tanks?"

"How specific can a frog _get?_" Julian demanded; he was in very low spirits tonight, and holding the heavy tank did not, evidently, help him in this matter.

Devlin shrugged.  "Maybe they're _trained _frogs?"

"Just put them into the tank," Helena said again.  "You, get more water," she told Julian.

"From where?"

"It doesn't _matter!_" said Helena.  "They're bloody _frogs!_  They can't afford to get too picky with their water, can they?"

"Actually --" Devlin began.

"Don't complicate things, _please?_" said Julian.  "This is getting heavier by the minute."

"Won't he be angry if he comes back and finds his frogs dead?" Devlin asked.  One of the frogs slipped out of his grasp, and he had to chase it halfway across the classroom before he caught it again.  "I mean, it's not really a good idea to let them die..."

Helena shrugged.  "He's got more frogs than he does students, I think," she said.  "He's probably counting on us killing a few."

"Good thing it's not the other way around," Julian muttered, struggling to maintain his grasp on the tank.  It was slipping dangerously.

The door opened a crack and Professor Gryffindor poked his head in.  "Is everything going all right?"

Julian, who had spilled some of the water in the tank, stepped forward to hide the puddle, and Devlin nodded from his spot on the floor.  "Everything's fine, Professor," said Helena, smiling hopefully.

"And Helena, what are _you_ doing?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm directing them," she said promptly.

"Well, you can stop giving orders and start _working_," he said.  "Remember, this is _not _supposed to be fun."  With that, he left.

"As if we couldn't tell," grumbled Julian.

"What are you waiting for?  Go and get water!" ordered Helena.

"And I don't see why we have to listen to _you,_" he continued.  "It's not as though you know what we're supposed to be doing."

Helena sighed.  "Go and get lake water or something.  There are frogs near the lake, aren't there?  Anyway, if we kill any of these, then we can replace them with those."

Grumbling, Julian lugged the tank to the door, placed it down gently, then peered into the hallway.  Then, evidently seeing no one, he Levitated the tank out with him.

Devlin began moving the frogs from the second tank into the third one.  "You ought to be doing something, too," he grumbled.

Helena looked back.  "What, me?  Of course I'm doing something," she said, going over to Professor Gryffindor's huge desk.  "Here, want to see your marks?" she asked, climbing up onto the desk with the assistance of a few well-placed drawers.

"Don't do that!" said Devlin, horrified.

"Why not?" she asked.  "It's not as though he'll _know._"

"But it's really horribly rude," he said.  "And how do you know he won't find out?"

"It's not as though I'm _stealing_ anything," said Helena sensibly.  "I'm just -- ooh, what's this?"  She shuffled through the parchments atop the desk.  "Here's a letter from Thaddeus Fudge, who has worse handwriting than Alaric Goyle," she said.

"How do you know what his handwriting looks like?" Devlin asked.

"Because his last essay is right here," she told him.  "What?  He did better than I did?"  She growled.  "If that's not biased grading, I don't know what is."

"Isn't that the essay you made up the morning it was due?" Devlin asked.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped.  "It's not as though _you_ do anything different with Potions."

Devlin glared.  "Well, _I'm_ not going to have any part in this," he said.  He Levitated the now-empty second tank, and it followed him jerkily towards the door.  "Maybe _you_ want another detention, but there's no telling how many warts --"

"That's with toads," said Helena knowledgeably.  "These are just frogs.  Don't you want to know why Thaddeus Fudge is writing to Professor Gryffindor?"

"I do not," said Devlin.  "I don't even know who Thaddeus Fudge _is._"

"For your information, he's the most famous Transfigurator in the world," said Helena.  "Everyone knows _that._  He was at Mum's first wedding anniversary, only I don't remember because I wasn't born.  Anyway, Mum and Professor Gryffindor went to visit him -- Fudge, I mean, not my father, because he's dead, and that would be weird -- over the summer, only I had to stay outside and play naughts and crosses with Master Slytherin, who cheats more than _I _do."

Devlin blinked.  From this jumbled account, he had gleaned perhaps more information than he'd really wanted to about his Charms professor, but, even so, he was interested.  It had something to do with Transfiguration, which he seemed to be decent at.  As Devlin wasn't the sort of boy for whom things came easily, he had decided that if he was going to be good at something, he might as well like it, or at least be interested.  He let the levitating tank touch the ground with a bit more force than he'd wanted, but it stayed in one piece.  Wandering over to the desk, he looked up at Helena.  "Go on.  What's the letter about?"

Helena took a deep breath, and began to read the letter.

"_Godric -- _that's his first name, obviously.  _Here's to hoping you can read, and you weren't just making that up _\-- why does he think Professor Gryffindor can't read?  Can't be a professor if you can't read_ \-- because I don't like wasting effort.  It was nasty of you to bring up the banquet while Aeaeae's daughter was there -- _d'you think he's talking about Mum's anniversary?"  Helena frowned.  "I don't see why he can't just call her by her name."

"Never mind that," said Devlin.  "Read the letter."  He didn't really like this Fudge character very much.

"All right, all right," said Helena.  "_Has the wealth gone to your head much?  I suppose you weren't lying when you said you knew her, though how much benefit it's had is questionable.  Not very pleasant, is she?_  -- Well, _he's_ not very pleasant, either. -- _Although perhaps it's a small price to pay for the more material benefits._"

She frowned, then went on.  "_Anyway, she's certainly got you on her side.  What's she done to keep you from getting away?  It makes you look rather pathetic, to be very honest._  _(And I do try to be honest.)  I'll bet she's not paying you as much as she should, though.  There's really no reason for you to stay._

"_Anyway, the point of the letter is that I'd be willing to take you back in. _\-- Take him back in where? -- _I'd raise your percentage, too, somewhat _\-- he explains what percentages are, 'cos he thinks we -- er, Professor Gryffindor -- wouldn't know...  _Enclosed is a small sample of what I'd be willing to pay per object -- extra for difficult objects, and less for simple things, of course._

_"Please.  Reconsider.  It would be to your benefit._

_"And if you don't, at least keep that madwoman away from my house!_"  At this, Helena refolded the letter and put it back where it'd been.  "Well," she sniffed, "I can't say I care much for the kind of person who calls _my mother_ a madwoman."  Her expression was doubtful, however, as though she wondered if it were true.  "I _told _you it was an interesting letter.  Now, where's the money he sent?"  She began to dig through the parchment on the desk.

Devlin was about to respond, but the door opened again, and in walked Julian and Professor Gryffindor, who did not look pleased when he saw Helena sitting on his desk.  Devlin, rather more prudently, had been hovering midway between the desk and the tank, in case of just such an event.  The professor sighed.  "Funnily enough, I don't remember having asked you to organize my parchment for me," he said.  "Now, either my memory is failing me worse than it ever has before, or you are misusing your detention."

Helena went pale, and jumped off the desk almost immediately.  "I'm sorry, I just..."  She fell silent, evidently unable to come up with a believable excuse.  In a very small voice, she said, "I think Thaddeus Fudge is a prat, though."

Professor Gryffindor sighed again.  "If I was _supposed_ to be giving you my opinion on anything not strictly academic, I would tell you that he is far worse than that, but that he continues to be a person, so that's his own choice.  However, I am not, so I won't, and you will _never _hear me say any such thing."  He put his hand over his heart at this, assuming a saintly expression.  "Help Devlin move the tank.  And yes, you can use magic if you like.  If I knew the spell for repairing broken glass, I'd probably let you go ahead and break all of the tanks, but I haven't quite managed it yet."  He walked over to his desk, pocketed the letter, and rummaged around in one of the drawers for a few moments.

Emerging with a musty, old-looking book, he stopped for a moment before leaving the room.  "And you can all stop acting like I'm going to start _throwing_ things at you.  I know none of you are horrible, monstrous evil children.  I've _met_ horrible monstrous evil children.  I've _been _one myself.  But you're not.  So stop cringing, get the detention over with, and don't do it again."

With that, he left, shaking his head at something.

* * *

_Honestly, the work would get done faster if I just _left_ it there without even trying to do it myself, _thought Godric, shaking his head.  Yesterday, the wards on Rowena's classroom had been reinstated, and he didn't have the nerve to ask Basil to take them down again because the full moon was tonight.  Meanwhile, he'd been searching for a way to block Rowena's Tripping Charms; she might not have realized that he knew what they were, and he wanted to keep it that way.  Unfortunately, the only suggestions seemed to be something along the lines of "Watch your back or be ready to jump quickly."

Busying himself with being generally irritated at how the day had gone, he did _not_ watch his back, and consequently met with a familiar lurching sensation.  The logical conclusion to this was finding himself on the stone floor, having dropped his copy of the _Voluma Animaguum__._  He reached out to grab it, but Rowena had planted her foot firmly atop the book.  Now very irritated, he swiped the book back, not caring if she ended up falling too.

"_Godric!_  That _hurt!_" said Rowena from the floor.

"_Yes! _ Yes, I've no doubt it did," said Godric, beginning to get up.  To hell with all of her hexes and curses, he was _angry_.  "Falling badly generally does."

"Well, you didn't have to do _that_ to me," she growled.

"You didn't have to curse me, either," Godric retorted.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.  "But it was entertaining," she pointed out.

"Maybe," he said.  He was _still _having a bad day, and if the opportunity to snarl at Rowena presented itself, he would take it.  "Fudge sent me some money.  I suppose you want it?" he demanded irritably.

She blinked, standing.  "Oh, gods, I keep forgetting to give you that money Fudge gave me from before.  No, I don't want it.  What do _I _need it for?"

It was his turn to look confused.  "What?  You're joking.  What do I need to do to keep it, kill somebody?" he asked bitterly.

She glowered at him.  "I may seem heartless and cruel," she said.  "I have no illusions about how weak-minded people may see me.  But I do _try _not to kill people."

"Nice of you to make the effort," he said darkly.

"Yes, well, don't make me try too hard," she replied.  She sighed, then shook her head.  "What am I saying?  This is idiocy.  Just... enough with the white mice, all right?"  She looked more fed up than angry.

He shrugged.  "It's not like I can do anything about it _now,_" he said.  "You've got your wards back up."  Although several ways of doing it through the wards_ had_ occurred to him...

"Well, actually --" she started.

"Actually what?"

"Nothing," she said quickly.  "I don't want to _encourage _you," she said.  After a brief pause, she said, "You don't know the Summoning Charm, do you?"  Curiosity, it appeared, had made her ask.

He shook his head.  "But I could Levitate the drawer out," he pointed out.

"Gravitas Charm.  It prevents Levitation," she said promptly.

"_Finite Incantatem_ and _then_ the Levitation," countered Godric.

"Well, I'd put up a spell deflector ward _over_ the Gravitas Charm, of course," Rowena said.

"Well," he said, getting into the rhythm of argument, "in that case I'd Transfigure the desk into a hungry animal and lure it out with food.  Transfiguration gets around most wards."

Rowena's response was smug.  "Then _I'd_ take cuttings of Helga's Venomous Tentacula and plant them above my door to steal the food."

"...That's just _silly,_" said Godric, though he was trying not to laugh.  "But, I suppose if you did that I'd just do a long distance Transfiguration, and turn the quills into mice without all the other complications."

"You can't do that!" Rowena insisted.  "You need to _see_ the object of Transfi--"

"That's what everything I've read say," said Godric.  "But if you've seen it -- or them -- about a hundred times before and know the basic properties, it's quite possible.  It _does _takes a lot more time, though, and it's much more satisfying to actually _see _the finished product."

Rowena blinked.  "Well... I could... put some sort of... cheese... thing... _fine,_ you win," she said.  "I suppose I'll just have to get to my classroom very early every day and hex you," she grumbled.  "But I'm still better than you are."

"At what?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  Just in general."  She waved her hand dismissively.

"Ah," said Godric.  He made no attempt to protest her decision.  "You know, I _will_ stop with the mice if you stop tripping me," he said.  "I think I might've sprained my wrist once, but I shot a few odd sparks of magic at it and I think it helped."

"You shouldn't do that," she said.  "You're lucky it didn't burn your hand right off."

He shrugged.  "It was my left hand, anyway.  What do I need it for?"

Rowena contemplated this for a few moments.  "You're right.  It would give you character.  You could be Godric, the Amazing One-Handed Transfigurator."

He almost laughed.  "As if they didn't have enough to stare at."

Was that a look of _sympathy?_  He ought to injure himself stupidly more often if it would make Rowena stop picking on him.  Besides, it was nice to be not-hated, if only temporarily.  "Come on back to my office," she said.  "If you promise to leave the rest of the room alone, I'll give you that money Fudge gave me.  It ought to be yours, anyway."

Finding very little reason to protest an unexpected gift of money, Godric nodded, and followed her.


	12. Chapter 12

"Lady Ravenclaw," Salazar said at the next staff meeting, "I am... somewhat concerned about your reasoning for taking in some of these students.  It seems that no less than twelve of our new students this year are of Muggle parentage, and seven of these have parents who may cause trouble for the castle, should they choose to do so."  He spoke levelly and neutrally, but Rowena couldn't help her irritation.  They were bright children; they deserved an education in magic that Muggles were neither willing nor able to provide.

Gritting her teeth, she took a deep breath, and instead, said, "While I can see your concern, especially after the incident with Lord de Malfoie last year, I can assure you that I _have_ asked every single parent beforehand and confirmed that none of our children are simply coming without parental approval."  She sighed.  "Doesn't that mean they're safe?"

"People are fickle, especially Muggles," said Salazar.  "I am not willing to take that risk with the students' lives, or ours.  Might I also remind you that this is _my_ castle?"

She winced.  "Well, yes, Lord Slytherin, however --"

"And I think we ought to let the others talk, as well," said Salazar patronizingly.  Rowena grimaced.  _He'd_ just spoken twice, but as soon as she began to defend herself, she'd been asked to give someone _else _a voice.

"I quite agree with Rowena," said Helga.  "Any child with magical skill ought to be able to come here."

Salazar grinned, though Rowena saw nothing funny in this.  "_Every_ child with magical skill?"

"Well, perhaps every child in Britain," muttered Helga.

"That _is_ still quite a few children," said Salazar, "and there is no guarantee that they will put their new knowledge to good use."

"It's their choice to do whatever they wish with their knowledge," snapped Rowena.  "They can't put it to good use at all if they haven't got it to _begin _with!"

"Indeed," said Salazar, "but one may still make certain... educated guesses, if you'll pardon the pun."

Rowena felt she was losing ground, quickly.  She used her wand to reach over and jab Godric sharply in the ribs.  "Godric!  What do you think?" she asked, managing to make it sound more like a command than a question.

"Well..."  Godric was looking doubtful.  "I _still _think Lord Slytherin's right."

She frowned at him.

"After all," he said, "it's not as though any of us wants to deal with more armies.  Particularly not me.  Anyway, I don't think that... that Muggleborn wizards are much better off knowing they have magic," he said.  "After all, it never did _me_ any good."

Rowena nearly said, _Well, that's because you're an idiot,_ but he wasn't _really_ an idiot.  He wasn't _incapable _of learning, he'd just never bothered to learn anything.  Which made him an even worse idiot.  Instead, she demanded, "What do you mean?"

"Well..." he started.  He appeared to be having trouble putting his thoughts into words.  How typical.  "Never mind.  It's nothing."

She sighed.  "Look, it may be your castle," she said to Salazar, "but you can't run the school without good teachers, and Helga and I are good teachers.  As is Basil, of course," she added quickly.  Neither Basil nor Jasper was here; Basil because it was the day after the full moon, and Jasper because he had a class.  "Now, if you want me to take _responsibility_ for anything unpleasant those students might bring upon us, I'll be glad to take it."

"Anything at all?" Salazar asked.  "Detentions?  Invasions?  Pranks, accidents, duels --"

"Anything," said Rowena quickly, knowing she was going to pay for this over and over.  She didn't want to take back what she'd said in front of everyone, though -- she had her pride.

"Very well, then," said Salazar pleasantly.  "I hereby transfer all responsibility for the Muggleborn students over to you, Lady Ravenclaw.  Though I shall certainly continue to teach them Potions.  And if the others wish to continue teaching them, they may."

"_All_ of the Muggleborn students?" Helga asked in disbelief.  "As well as the purebloods she's got in her common room already?"

"I _said _I would take them," said Rowena stubbornly.

"You _can't_ take them _all,_" said Helga.  "Your tower will... will _explode!_  Or something."

"It depends upon how combustible they are," said Salazar.  "Perhaps we should get rid of the less promising students?  Or the more combustible ones."

"_No!_" said Helga and Rowena at once.

"We can't just send them _home!_" shouted Helga.

"What will their _parents_ think?" Rowena asked.

"What will _they_ think?"

"They'll _hate_ us!  They'll send armies!"

"They'll think they've been _rejected,_ that's what they'll think!"

"You wouldn't like that very much, Lord Slytherin, would you?" Rowena asked quietly

"And they'll be right!" Helga said.  "But will we have had good reason?  No!"

"Perhaps," said Salazar after waiting for them to calm down, "you would like to take some of them in, Mistress Hufflepuff?"

"I certainly would," she snapped, "and moreover --"

Rowena shushed her -- otherwise she might keep ranting forever.

"It appears," said Salazar, "that a total redistribution of the student body is in order.  It's a pity Jasper isn't here; he'd enjoy the challenge.  But what we need right now," he said, "is a system of organization.  Agreed?"

Rowena nodded, having to agree, though she didn't trust Salazar.  Helga and Godric nodded as well.

"In which case, I think representing both views is only fair," Salazar continued.  "Therefore, I designate responsibility to Lady Ravenclaw and Master Gryffindor."

She caught a look of pure terror from Godric, though whether he was terrified at the prospect of working with her or at whatever Salazar intended to do, she couldn't tell.  Helga had opened her mouth to say something, but Rowena said "Very well" and nodded before she had a chance.

"And if that's settled, I think this meeting had best be over, as it's getting late and some of us have classes later on," said Salazar.

_Well, that was fast,_ she thought, wondering how the meeting had managed to spin so utterly out of her control.  And now she had to devise some sort of system -- with _Godric,_ who would doubtless prove to be nothing more than a dead weight against progress.  She swept out of the room, not bothering to say anything to the others.

* * *

Godric, meanwhile, was petrified.  He'd been about to leave, and ask Rowena what they should do, when Lord Slytherin motioned for him to stay in the room.

When Rowena and Helga were gone, Godric finally spoke.  "If this is about the dinner, I'm very sorry, I didn't mean any of it and it really wasn't very -- very -- I mean, I shouldn't have said it in front of her.  Or you.  Even if I _did _believe it.  Which I don't.  Not that I'm in the _habit _of --"

Lord Slytherin motioned for him to be silent.  "Actually, I thought about what you said.  And I shall certainly take it into consideration when I am Chief of the Wizards' Council."

Godric had nothing to say to this.  Well, he did, but he was caught between mindless relief and astonishment at _anyone_ who would be so confident of his ascension to Chiefdom to use "when" and not "if."

"The current problems are, for the most part, a product of poor leadership," Lord Slytherin continued.  "I am, of course, attempting to remedy the situation, and at the moment, I must say I pose a considerable threat to Lady Aeaeae's position.  However, what is needed at the moment is something that will tip the scales slightly.  Not overwhelmingly -- sudden changes frighten people, especially those in power.  And while these gradual changes are occurring, stability elsewhere is absolutely necessary, especially in regards to things I am perceived to be in charge of.  Do you understand?"

Godric nodded, though he didn't know if he did, exactly.  He was trying to work out how this had anything to do with _him._

"Good.  Now, as you can see, neither of us would like any more armies or other malcontents attacking this castle.  Nor would I like to see Lady Ravenclaw attempting to wrest any more control, as doubtless the situation would suffer somewhat..."

He thought this was a bit unfair to Rowena, but had to admit it was probably true, especially where he was concerned.  "Yes, it probably would," he said.

"And so you can see why I'm asking you to keep an eye on her while she does this," said Lord Slytherin.  "I _think_ she lacks Ophelia's cruelty, but she _is_ her mother's daughter, and I must admit, trusting her entirely when she has gone so openly against my orders so recently is quite outside the realm of possibility.  And I would rather this project _not_ be sabotaged."

He wanted to say that Rowena wasn't her mother, wasn't plotting against Lord Slytherin, and, at the very least, wasn't _trying _to be unreasonable -- but then he considered what Rowena would doubtless have said about _him_.  He would have liked to ask what was in this for him, and why he had to dodge her curses, or perhaps just to say something about the goblin Peeves -- but he considered himself to be fortunate, having escaped Lord Slytherin's wrath in the matter of the Veritaserum Dinner, and pushing the scarce luck he had didn't seem like a good idea.  So all he did was nod and say, "Yes, sir.  I'll try to keep her out of trouble for you."

* * *

The unfortunate thing about having to work with Godric -- besides, of course, the obvious -- was that Rowena knew she was going to have to do all of the work.  There was, however, an advantage in this -- it meant that the work was going to get done _right,_ because even _if_ Godric tried to have a say in it, she'd be able to shut him up.

So when they finally met to discuss the prospect of some sort of student separation method, she was not prepared for Godric to say, "All right, I've got sort of an idea that that might actually work, for once in my life."

"You have an _idea?_" she asked, surprised.  "It must get very lonely, poor thing."

He glared.  "_Multiple_ ideas, but they're all connected."

"Bound in chains so they won't run away in despair," agreed Rowena.

"I was thinking --"

"Did it--"

"No!" he snapped, rolling his eyes.  "It didn't hurt.  You always ask that.  Anyway, I was thinking that if we could somehow make something capable of gathering thoughts together, each of us could put some requirements for students together, tell the thing, and have it sort the students into groups like that.  It would deal nicely with students who didn't seem to offer much, although Helga's going to kill me when she finds out."

"Godric, that's impossible," she said flatly.  "Now, what _I_ was thinking was that we could _test_ the students.  The highest-scoring purebloods could go to Lord Slytherin, of course, since he'd rather take _them_ in -- Muggleborns being too _dangerous_," she said, rolling her eyes.  "And you could take the lower-scorers, and Helga and I can divide up the Muggleborns similarly."

"I still like my method better," he said.

"Yes, but it's impossible," she reminded him.  "Nobody's ever been able to do something like that.  You'd need an _insane_ amount of magical power, and the spells would just be unnecessarily complex.  I mean, unless it was a Horcrux, and your blank expression tells me that your naive little mind's never heard of those, poor thing.  Anyway, _I_ think that --"

"You're afraid you won't be able to work out how to do the spells, is that it?" he asked, seeming amused.

"I'm not _afraid,_" she snapped.  "I'm just -- well, it seems like such a silly thing..."

"You don't think you can do it."

"I don't want to waste my time on it!" she snapped.

"Perhaps you're right," he said dismissively.  "Perhaps you _can't_ do it.  I've done a bit of preliminary research, however, and I'm willing to pursue it until I --"

"What about the _Voluma Animaguum,_ then?" she asked.  "We're getting to be a rather lopsided school, aren't we?  The Transfigurator doing impossible things with spells, the Enchanter becoming the first Animagus... next thing we know, Jasper will announce that he's going to become a duelist and Helga will start making potions!"

"You will _not_ be the first," he said, more seriously.  "_I_'ll be the first.  _You _will be the second."

"Oh, you'll get to be first in everyone else's eyes," said Rowena, shrugging.  "Bad form, topping the Great and Powerful Transfigurator at his own game.  But you'll always know that I _let_ you win."

He sighed.  "You won't _need _to let me win.  Arguing about it is pointless -- the proof will come when it comes.  Now, back to the thought-comparer.  I read about a thought-collection device in my researches of something else, and it made me wonder if we could adapt it to our purposes."

"A thought-_collection_ device?" Rowena asked, frowning.

"Yes.  There's no proof it actually exists, though," said Godric.  "It's all rumors so far.  Apparently people are suspicious it might be used for the purposes of mind-control, which was what I was researching at the time."

"_Mind-control?_" Rowena demanded.  "_You_ were looking into methods of _mind-control?_"

"Well, it's just another kind of Transfiguration, isn't it?" he asked.  "You can change something's outward shape or color -- simple.  You can change something into something else entirely -- middling.  You can change handwriting, language, scent, weather -- it starts to get rather more complex.  And if you can change someone's mind -- well, that's the _ultimate _in difficulty."

She stared.  He was actually serious.  _That's impossible.  He can't _do_ that!  It's wrong and it's completely impossible and --_  The thought was abruptly cut off with an image of a small, sputtering fire, grungy army-tents encircling it, and goblins wandering from tent to tent, jabbering in their own language.  She shook her head to rid herself of the image, and then looked up at Godric.  "You!" was all she managed.

"Erm, yes," he said.  "Sorry about that. You've got to know what the thoughts you're trying to change actually _are,_" he said, "and it's next to impossible to control what they turn into."

"How did you know what I was thinking?  Have you got a spell for that, too?"

"Somebody else is developing one, I think," said Godric.  "But I just used common sense, really.  You don't believe in God or ghosts, and you certainly don't believe in anything I come up with," he said.  "Naturally, it's all impossible.  That was it, wasn't it?"  He looked very smug, especially for Godric.  "And now that I've proved that I know what I'm talking about, can we move on?"

"As long as you promise _never_ to mention any of what you just said to Lord Salazar, or my mother, or _anyone_ remotely connected with the Wizards' Council," she said.  "Politicians are in the _business_ of changing minds.  And they aren't nice about it like you think you are.  And _that's_ another thing," she snapped.  "Don't you ever, _ever_ do that to me again.  _Ever._  It's worse than Imperius."

He shrugged, as the term 'Imperius' was evidently something he was unfamiliar with.  "I won't use it again unless it's necessary," he said.

"_Never,_ Godric.  _Never._  People can convince themselves that a lot of horrible things are necessary," she added.  "Even people like you."

"All right, _never,_" he said, rolling his eyes.  "Now, moving on, if we could get access to one of these thought-collection things, we could _alter _it -- give it _permanent_ access to our thoughts on student requirements, and then close that off so it couldn't be accessed or changed by the students.  Then have it inspect the students' thoughts -- what _they_ think of as their own best strengths -- and put them in the closest-matching group."

"Yes, but what if what they _think_ and what they _are _don't match?" she asked.

"It's better than nothing," he said.  "At least we'll know what they want to be."

"Well, it _might_ work," she said reluctantly.  "_If_ we can get our hands on one of these thought things, _and_ change it enough to make it work for our purposes."

"You work on getting the device," said Godric.  "You've got connections and things.  I'll show you where I read about it.  I'll work on changing it -- it's about all I'm good at -- and if necessary, I suppose we could try building one from scratch."

"All right," she said, still having trouble believing she was taking orders from Godric.  Well, they weren't actually _orders._  Godric didn't give orders -- he just asked nicely.  It went against everything her mother had taught her.  Then again, considering what her mother was like, that should have been a very good thing indeed.

"Oh, and another thing," said Godric.

"What?" she snapped.

"Er."  He wrung his big stupid hands, looking ashamed.  "Lord Slytherin thought you might try and sabotage this project," he said.  "That's the only reason he's got me working on this.  He told me himself."

"I suppose it would have been too much for you to correct his assumptions?" she asked, glaring at him.

"I -- I just thought you ought to know, that's all," he said, cringing.  "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said bitterly.  "I can't say I blame him all that much, really."

"But you won't, will you?" he asked.  "I mean, with your idea, you couldn't have, but with mine, you could say 'Let in all of the students that will really piss off Lord Slytherin' and no one would know."

"Well, then, you should've thought of that before you gave me that option," she said.

He nodded.  "I had."  He sounded almost disappointed.

"It appears that you are _not _Lord Salazar's most trustworthy assistant," she observed, somewhat amused.  Godric was going against _authority!_  Repeating secrets!  What a _daring _thing he'd done.  Of course, for Godric, it _was_, which made it all the more pathetic.

"Lord Slytherin isn't the most trusting man, considering what he's told me.  _And _what he hasn't."  He looked uncomfortable.  "He probably _wanted _me to tell you that.  But I do trust you.  I mean, about _this._"

Rowena shrugged.  It was flattering, but he was stupid to trust her.  "Well, thank you for telling me, I suppose.  I won't compromise you, much as I'd like to.  And look at it this way -- maybe he's doing things behind our backs, but at least he knows how to work _around_ people who don't trust him.  Mum just has them killed."

Godric winced.  "And that makes them trust her?"

Rowena nodded.  "You'd be surprised how trusting they are after mysterious deaths.  They'll agree to _anything._"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this far, you may be interested in reading or contributing to a fanzine for Harry Potter gen. If so, you should comment to norisis' post, at http://norisis.livejournal.com/6807.html. It's in the planning stages now, so if you have any suggestions/encouragement, now is the best time for them!

After she and Godric had worked a sort of research-and-experimentation timetable out, Rowena realized that her position was an odd one -- she was now on better terms with her (admittedly, very forgiving) archrival than she was with either her patron or her best friend.  It was not really the best position to be in, she conceded -- and it had not been the first time she'd conceded that day, either, which was something of an irritation for Rowena.  Trying to convince Rowena she was wrong was about as useful as trying to put a fire out with a cauldron full of boiling oil.

But maybe, just maybe, this _one_ time, she'd overlooked several important details in planning, and perhaps not told everyone things when she should've.  For example, she might've mentioned to Helga that they'd have to be political pawns, she supposed, as Helga hadn't been raised to that sort of thing.  And, well, Helga _had_ supported her argument with Lord Salazar.  And it seemed like they were always fighting these days.  That wasn't right at all.  She _missed_ Helga.

As she walked outside to the greenhouses, Rowena could _almost _pretend that this last reason did not contribute at all to her decision.

She rapped on the door lightly, and Helga poked her head out, her curiosity obvious.  "What is it?"

"I..."  Rowena frowned, considering what wording would put her in best stead.  "I wanted to apologize."

"You _wanted_ to apologize?"  Helga raised an eyebrow.

She glared.  "I _intend_ to apologize," she snapped.

"By all means, apologize, then," said Helga, starting to close the door.

It was several seconds before Rowena realized that something was wrong.  "Wait!"

"What?"  Helga blinked; it was clear she was enjoying this.

"I wasn't finished!"

"Very well."  She waited, an impossibly superior sort of smirk on her face.  Rowena simply glared at her.  "I suppose you could work up to it," she added helpfully.

Rowena blinked.  "What?"

"Well, you could thank me first," Helga said.  "For helping you not lose your disagreement with Lord Slytherin.  And then maybe you might be able to manage it," she said.

She glared again.  "I suppose I shouldn't have assumed some of the things that I did," she said grumpily.

After waiting a few seconds, Helga decided that this was probably all she was going to get.  "Well then," she said.

"Well then what?" Rowena snapped.

"Are you going to stand out there all day looking cross or are you going to come in and tell me what you wanted to tell me?"

"What makes you think I wanted to tell you anything?"  Rowena frowned; sometimes she hated when other people were right.

"Because why _else_ would you have gone through all that trouble to... attempt apology?" Helga asked, laughing.  "Mind you, it needs loads of work.  If I didn't know you so well I'd have thought you didn't mean it."

Rowena frowned.  "What?  Why?"

"Because you obviously didn't want me to think you did."  Helga grabbed her arm and pulled her into the greenhouse.  "Now come on, sit down, it's chilly outside.  What were you going to say?"

A bit uncomfortable, Rowena sat at one of the students' desks.  "Ah.  Well.  Godric's got this idea, see," she started.

"Yes, people other than you have them, you know," said Helga, gesturing at her with a trowel.

Glaring again -- though backing up a bit, as she didn't want to be whapped in the face with a trowel -- Rowena cleared her throat.  "_Anyway_, he says he's got this idea for a... a thing that reads minds.  Rather than, you know, a nice simple test."

"Hmm.  That sounds interesting," said Helga.  She turned and began repotting some sort of purplish flowers.  "Got to be careful with that, though.  Some people have really nasty minds."

"_Anyway_," said Rowena, "the idea is that we tell the thing what we want our students to be like, and it picks out the ones we get to keep and weeds out the ones we don't."

Helga raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder.  "What keeps us from taking all of them?"

"Nothing.  But I've promised Godric not to do that, of course," she said.  She tapped her fingers against the desk nervously.

"What?"  Helga put the trowel down and stared.

"I told him I wouldn't," she said, frowning.  "I mean, it's -- he trusted me enough to -- to do this, and to tell me about Lord Salazar -- not that I didn't expect it..."

"What about Lord Slytherin?" Helga snapped.

"He thought -- Lord Salazar did, I mean -- he thought I'd sabotage the... the sorting thing.  To get _all_ of the students he didn't like into the school."  She was looking down at the desk now, not really wanting to think about what sort of morals she was supposed to have, and how they might compare with what few she _did_ have.

"And you told Godric you wouldn't."  Helga said this flatly, as if she had difficulty believing it.

"Well, yes."  Rowena shrugged.

"But you still will, right?"

"_No!_  I _said_ I wouldn't, didn't I?"  It was the least she could do.  He'd trusted her; she owed it to him to be trustworthy.

"Well, _I_ never gave _my_ word," muttered Helga, turning again and jabbing the trowel into the soil.  The purple flower made a sort of yowping noise, and Helga jabbed her wand at it and muttered a spell.

"Oh, really, you won't, will you?" Rowena asked, getting up and looking over Helga's shoulder.  "You're going to get all three of us in trouble with Lord Salazar -- _and _Basil, too, probably, but he's not my problem -- and then where will we have the school?"

"I don't care.  We shouldn't just... get _rid_ of students like that."

"But we can't afford to do this," said Rowena, feeling tired.  "It's too risky.  Without his protection we're at the mercy of my mum, who's not exactly child-friendly, either.  I mean, look how _I _turned out!"

"How _did_ you turn out?" Helga asked, as if she'd been waiting for someone to ask that question all along.

"I don't even know anymore," she said.  "Look, Helga, just... don't do this, all right?"

"I'll do what I like," said Helga.  "You can tell Lord Slytherin it had nothing to do with you."

"I can do _no such thing_," said Rowena.  "You're not going to do this.  I don't want to have to leave, but I don't want _you_ to have to leave, even if I stay on.  _Please,_ Helga, don't do anything stupid."__

"If I want to be stupid I can be stupid on my own time, Rowena," she said, turning.  "At least I won't be _useless_."

Rowena, while she'd never claimed to be use_ful_, could neither see this as a compliment nor find an adequate comeback for it.  "Well.  Goodnight, then," she said, walking to the door.  "I hope you change your mind before you --" Rowena searched for something to say "-- before you _do _anything," she said vaguely.  She closed the door then, resisting the urge to slam it and stomp away.  She couldn't stomp outdoors, anyway, she'd get her boots all muddy.

It was only after she'd got inside that she realized how horrid her own advice was.  It was useless to correct herself _now_ \-- she'd just have to pretend it'd made sense in the first place.

And now she _really_ missed Helga.  Damn it.

* * *

"So," Rowena said, tapping her fingers on the table -- tiredly, Godric thought, but what did he know?

"We've got to develop the thought-collecting thing," he said.

"Either that or steal it," she sighed.

"...yes, but that would be cheating," said Godric.

"True, it would be more interesting to build it from scratch," said Rowena.  "But we'd better not keep Lord Salazar waiting around for too long."

"Yes, but the problem," he sighed, "is you."

"...what?"  She glared.  "Why is _everything_ my fault?"

"I didn't _say_ that," he said quickly.  "I just said --"

"You _did!_" she snapped.

"No, look, just listen to me, Rowena.  If we steal the thing, we're going to need Lord Slytherin's help," he said.

"...my gods, you've actually been thinking about this on your _own_," she said, astonished.  "And you think he won't trust the plan once he hears about it?"

He nodded.  "Because you're --"

"But Godric, he's going to _have_ to hear about it eventually anyway," she said.  "I mean, he's not going to be too keen on letting your Sorting Whatsit have a look 'round his head, he's going to be too busy with his mad plots for world domination and all."

"...well, I don't know that he's got mad plots for world domination," said Godric slowly, "except he's a politician so he's got them by default, obviously, but... well, do you think he'd lend us some, I dunno, people to -- to, er..."  He muddled around for the right word.

"What, thieves and spies?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I was looking for the polite word..."

"Seeing as you'll never be a member of polite society, it's best just to use the _real_ name for the occupation," said Rowena.  "But if you're ever in a fix and you need to be nice, always use big words for small sins, and never mention the larger ones.  Or, in the presence of persons who are either _truly_ ignorant or who would not be fooled for a moment, you can call them 'researchers,'" she added helpfully.  "All the Council members have them -- I rather think that's what Lord Slytherin uses that goblin Peeves for," she said.

"Oh.  All right.  ...wait, why are you talking to me?" he asked suddenly, realizing that she was, in fact, babbling.  "I mean, not that I'm upset, it's just that I know you just don't like me."

She shrugged, looking defeated.  "Who else am I going to talk to?  Helga's angry at me for telling you I wouldn't sabotage the Sortingkajigger, and she's the only friend I've got here.  I mean, you _trust_ me, gods know why.  Nobody trusts me.  Even Jasper doesn't trust me."

Even though she was evil, Godric could see that her ego needed a good propping up.  "There's, er... there's Helena," he pointed out.

"Helena is _twelve_, Godric."  She sighed.  "She already worries about me more than she should.  I want her to grow up without making her think she has to... to protect me from myself.  Or whatever she thinks she's got to do.  Gods, I don't even know what my daughter thinks."

He considered this; she seemed rather distressed about the whole thing, and while he didn't know much about what'd happened to Rowena since they'd parted ways as children, he _did_ know a few things about Helena.  "Rowena, when you were twelve, did _you_ want either your mum or Helga's to know what _you_ were thinking?"

She grinned, an odd sight for Godric.  "...well, not particularly, no, but most of it was evil and involved getting you into as much trouble as possible."  The grin disappeared.  "But the Thingywhozit.  Who did you say had the thought collection device?"

"I suppose I'd better tell you before you come up with any other outlandish synonyms for 'vaguely defined object,'" said Godric.  "One of Stigandir Bjornson's researchers found it, apparently -- er, would that be 'spies and thieves' researchers or actual researchers?" he asked.

"Actual researchers," she said.  "Bjornson's big on actual research, actually -- the family keeps trying to push through some stupid exploratory voyage across the western sea, but Lord Salazar and his faction shoot it down every time it comes up," she said.  "They've sided with my mum out of desperation, I think, everyone says they're mad.  The Muggles've been there before, though, so I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"...so getting spies at them will be tricky?" Godric asked, worriedly.

"Not particularly."  Rowena grinned.  "Bjornson has two sons, Hrafen and Ari.  Hrafen's quite clever, I like him, actually, but we'd better avoid him for now, as he'll know what we're up to.  Ari's not stupid, he's just... imperceptive and superficial.  Funny but oblivious," she said.  "He'd like you, I think, but you wouldn't like him."

"So what should we do, then?" Godric asked.

"I'll see if we can't have a general sort of Council feast," said Rowena.  "Ostensibly to get people to send their children and nieces and things here.  It'll balance out the poorer Muggle-born students, I don't think Salazar will mind --"

"Even if we invite his enemies?" he asked.

"It's best to keep an eye on people you don't agree with, in _that_ line of work," Rowena said.  "Really, it's half the point of feasts.  The other being to get terribly drunk and sing rude songs, but that's more for the Muggles, as they have servants who do that sort of thing."  She grimaced to herself but offered no further explanation.  "And then, at the feast, I'll see if I can't weasel myself an invite to see their lovely home."

She seemed entirely too eager to get away from the castle, and Godric wondered, if only for a moment, whether she _mightn't_ betray Lord Slytherin and the school.  But that was silly, he knew Rowena better than that.  "...er, Rowena?  Are you all right?"

Her pleasant attitude suddenly shifted.  "I'm _fine,_" she snapped, glaring up at him.  "What, do you still think I'm trying to get myself killed?"

"No, no, I'm just --"

"Or maybe _you_ think I'm a traitor _too_," she said.

"I don't!" he assured her, sounding a bit more guilty than he'd wanted to.

"Did it _ever_ occur to you that if you were a _little more pleasant_ I'd have no _reason_ to... to do whatever it is you all think I'm doing?" she asked, standing to glare up at him from a slightly shorter distance.

He grimaced.  "I really didn't think you were going to do whatever," he said weakly.  "I don't know what whatever is, but I don't think you'd do it.  I just think you're being rude and nobody likes that," he said, honestly.  "That's all."

She muttered something -- he only caught the words "...accusing me of... _I'm_ rude, am I?"  Clearing her throat, she said, "Well, never mind that.  I'll take care of the feast, you take care of the Transfiguration.  And _don't mess up_, or Lord Salazar will blame it all on _me_."

"I won't mess it up!" he said indignantly, but she'd already stalked out of the room by then.

* * *

Several months later, they were preparing for a very large and practically unfeasible feast.  Lady Rowena had very flatteringly enlisted Jasper's help with the whole thing, but what purpose it would serve was beyond him -- perhaps as a sort of showing-of-the-weapons as envisioned by his father?  Jasper frowned.  It would have made perfect sense as such if the thing had, in fact, been his father's idea.  Which he hadn't noticed it being, actually.  Perhaps he needed to pay a bit more attention to these things?

"JASPER!  Will you _pay attention?_"  And there she was getting annoyed with him again; unfortunate, that.  It wasn't particularly dignified.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, the model of politeness.

"I _said_, he might have to be Petrified first, I don't really think he's going to take this without a fight."

Jasper worried, having not caught the name for which the word 'he' was being substituted.  "Ah.  Well, I'm sure we can handle it," he said confidently.

"_I_ will handle it," said Lady Rowena.  "_You_ will do what I tell you to."

Yes, except for that bit she really was an interesting sort of woman.  "Er.  Who were we talking about again?"

"_Godric_, of course," she said.  "He's the most intimidating-_looking_ of us, even if he isn't actually all that, well, intimidating.  We've got to be certain he doesn't do anything to ruin everything, as he's never been to one of these things before..."

"Oh, right.  Muggleborn commoner, yes."  He nodded.  "...do you think it was unpleasant?"

"...what, being a Muggleborn commoner?" she asked, frowning.  "Oh yes, I imagine so, but he can't have noticed, really.  One usually doesn't..."  She trailed off.  "But anyway, yes, we must make him look _terribly _dense."

There was a clearing of throat from somewhere above them.  "I think I already look terribly dense, thank you," said Gryffindor, who never failed to frighten Jasper into taking just a few steps back.

"Yes, but it's not _enough_," said Lady Rowena.  "I mean, you don't even look as though you've made an _effort_ to look dense," she said, stepping forward.  "Look, your cloak is all wrong, it's the one you _always_ wear, the edges are frayed."

"It's nearly new," he said.

"For _you,_ maybe," she said.  "Anyway, it's not _garish_."

Gryffindor frowned.

"Jasper, shouldn't it be brighter?" Lady Rowena asked, elbowing him.

"...well, he'd look frightfully... _nouveau-riche_," said Jasper, cocking his head and squinting up at Gryffindor.  "That _is_ the desired effect, isn't it?"

"I don't want to look frightful," insisted Gryffindor, "I don't want to look _anything!_"

"Nonsense, invisibility is impractical at feasts," said Lady Rowena sensibly.  "Come on, Godric, follow us."

"I don't see why I even have to _go_, they'll all be _gawping_ at me," he heard Gryffindor say, before silently following the other two.

* * *

Godric stared through the entrance to the Great Hall.  There were... there were _people_ here.  _People._  They were... _normal_ people.  ...well, not all of them were normal, but they were all from outside of the school, which frightened Godric somewhat.  It'd been so long since he'd spoken to people like _that_.  None of them cared about magical theory, he suspected.  It would be dreadful talking to any of them.

"Well, come on, then," snapped Rowena.  "Are you going to just sit around staring, or are you going to be useful and _socialize?_"

"I don't think I'm very good at that," he said weakly.

"I don't think you're very good at _anything_," she said, rolling her eyes.  "But you might as well _try_."

He bit his lip.  "...well.  So long as they don't try to kill me or anything..."

"Don't be stupid, if they try to kill you, I'll take care of it," she said confidently.

 He decided he'd better not ask what that would entail, or why that last phrase couldn't have been "they won't try to kill you" instead, and, gulping, he stepped through the entrance.

  



	14. Chapter 14

As soon as they entered, Rowena shrieked with joy and ran off to greet a grandfatherly-looking man.  She left Godric standing alone in the middle of the room, and he had the impression of being circled by ravening beasts.  Well, really, it was socialites.  That was worse.

Helga waved, and walked over to him.  At the look on his face, she said, "Godric, you look like somebody's about to make you eat raw worms."

"Would cooked worms taste any better?" he asked doubtfully.

"I wouldn't know," she said.  "Come on, let's go annoy people with titles.  Did Rowena leave you here all alone?  She really ought to know better."

"Do you know any of these people?" said Godric, looking around bewilderedly.

"I've done plants for most of them," said Helga.  "Ooh, there's Katarin Vaurien!"  She pointed at an aloof-looking auburn-haired woman.

"Are you going to go say hello?"

"No, she's an evil bitch," said Helga cheerfully.  "Basil and I had to clear up a fungus monster issue for them years ago; we went through hell and they never properly thanked us.  I did promise to do my worst if they didn't pay me, though, so that's something."

Godric wasn't entirely sure what Helga's worst would be, and he decided he didn't want to find out.  He looked around the crowds of people for someone, anyone he recognized, and blinked.  "...Helga, isn't that your brother?"

"...oh god," said Helga.  "Where?  He'll be asking for money.  I thought the point of this party was fund_raising?_"

"No, it's -- er.  Other things," said Godric.  "Anyway, let's avoid Leo and --"

"HELGA!  How _are_ you?"  Elmira Lockhart had (either very sneakily or perhaps completely obliviously) taken them both by surprise by coming up from behind.  Aside from her graying brown hair, she looked rather like an older version of her daughter.  Helga gave Godric a dirty look over her mother's shoulder as she was hugged.

"I'm fine, Mum," said Helga, smiling.  "Classes are going well, and, er, Basil's fine."

"Where _is_ he?  I haven't seen him since last year!" said Mistress Lockhart.

"I'm wondering that myself," said Helga, looking briefly as though she were contemplating finding a heavy blunt object and allowing it to find Basil's head for her.  She quickly smiled again.  "I asked him to tell the students what to expect; some of them are Muggleborn peasants' children."

Mistress Lockhart nodded.  "I think I see Rowena over there, talking to someone who looks terribly important -- and where's Godric?"

"He's a bit hard to miss, Mum," said Helga, pointing at Godric.  Godric waved.

"...oh," said Mistress Lockhart, blinking up at him.  "You've grown a bit, I see."

"It might've been odd if I'd shrunk," said Godric, who always felt awkward around people who'd only known him before the curse.  Not that he ever _didn't_ feel awkward.  But more awkward.

"...yes, I suppose it might," said Mistress Lockhart, who apparently realized that this was not a good topic of conversation.  "And you're teaching Transfiguration?  I remember you were quite good at that -- wasn't it your first bit of magic?"

Godric laughed.  "Yes, unfortunately.  It was self-defense, but nobody else saw it that way except Aurelius Eriskyne."

"I'll admit, I'm curious -- you were my only Muggleborn student, Godric, and I don't think I ever met your family -- what do the Muggle families of the students here think of it?  Do you have to kidnap them?"

Helga burst out laughing.  "Lord Slytherin would have a _fit..._"

"_I_ would have a fit," said Godric.

"You _already_ have fits," Helga pointed out.

"Well, maybe if you didn't send me outside to yell at the army, I wouldn't --"

"It made _sense!_" Helga said.  "And it _worked!_"

"Well, I think fits are perfectly justified in the case of armies," Godric said, refusing to back down on this issue.

"...so, no kidnapping, then," said Mistress Lockhart, who had always had an admirable ability to work out the basics of a situation from bizarre arguments pertaining to it.  (It was probably from working with children, Godric thought.  He often wished he was as good at that as she had been.)  "Do you talk to them or fool them into thinking it's something else?"

"Oh, Rowena handles that all, she does it really well," said Helga.  "I think because she lived among Muggles for a bit.  Not that that ended _well,_ but she likes them a lot better than I think I would if that'd happened to _me_.  But I think, actually -- didn't Rowena invite Lord de Malfoie?" Helga asked.

Godric shrugged.  "I don't know, it's not like anybody asked _me_ who to invite."

"There's a _Muggle_ here?" asked Mistress Lockhart. "I thought it was mostly Council people.  Even Lady Aeaeae is here!"

Godric had always assumed that Rowena's mum and Helga's got on well; as they were both witches who were mothers, he had assumed they probably talked a lot about making potions and soup and bedtime stories, and how to ensure that they would always win arguments about doing chores or having to go to bed on time.  But that had been when he was nine.  He realized now that Mistress Lockhart had the same cheerful tone that Helga used when she was the exact opposite of pleased.  But he didn't have much time to wonder about it before Helga said, quite bluntly, "I know.  We aren't speaking."

"Ah.  Well, perhaps that's for the best," said Mistress Lockhart.  "She's... she can be very unpleasant."

And before either of them could ask what the other meant, a silvery-blond person had rushed up to Helga excitedly.  "There you are!  We asked to be put on this assignment specifically to see if you had any more plants with seeds that blow up -- I'm nearly out, you see."  It was a woman, Godric realized, not a man, although she _dressed_ like one, and was skinny enough to be mistaken for one.  She had an accent, and wore what looked like a uniform; blue on top and white on the bottom, with a winged pig in the middle.  He had seen it before.

"I'll send Basil for them, if he _ever shows up_," said Helga, through clenched teeth.

"Want me to go get him for you?" asked the woman.  He realized now that she must be one of Lady Aeaeae's bodyguards, the Aurae Aurelii.  He'd known a girl who had been training for that with Aurelius Eriskyne.  "I can get Hatim to do one of his neat numbersy things," said the Aura.

"No, I'm sure he'll be along any minute now.  Oh!  Godric, this is Aurelia Alfhild Bergfalk.  Alfhild, this is Godric Gryffindor, our Transfiguration professor."

"Pleased to meet you!" she said, extending a hand to be shook.  "And call me Alfhild. The title sounds nice enough on its own, but we travel in packs, so _everybody's_ Aurelia and Aurelius all the time.  I've got a _real _name."  She cocked her head.  "...You know, you don't _look_ half-giant."

"I'm _not_," said Godric, blinking.

"Oh well.  Nice try, anyhow," she said, then turned back to Helga.  "Listen, if I could have those seeds ASAP that would be great, because --" and here she looked around quickly before continuing "-- Hatim and I want to find someplace to get married while we're in Britain."

"Why don't you just --" Helga started.

"Well, if we go with _my_ family's rules, the Veela marriage ordeal takes a month and there's a small chance he'll get eaten, and if we go with _his,_ Hatim's brother is trying to talk him out of it since I'm 'not of the Book.'"  Here she made a face.  "You know, the one who thinks he should inherit instead of Nada.  Arse.  Anyway, neither of us has time for any of that, really, not the way things have been going in Damascus lately.  We're doing wonderfully -- got this brilliant map that shows it all.  Arithmantic methods, he says.  Good solid barbarian meanness, says I."  Here she grinned.  "Anyway, Sheffield's got security pretty well covered and it'll be a lot of wards, so we probably won't be missed."

Godric had begun to wander off at this point, since he didn't want to stand around for a conversation he was clearly not part of, but at the name Sheffield, he turned around again.

"Who?" he asked.

"Aurelia Sheffield?  My boss?" said Bergfalk, frowning.  "Why?  You trying to avoid her?"

She _had_ made it!  Maybe this party wouldn't be so awful after all.  "You know, I don't think I was.  D'you know where she is?"

"Last time I saw her she was out there somewhere," said Aurelia Bergfalk, waving vaguely towards the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Thanks," said Godric.  He wandered out of the Great Hall, and saw Basil coming down the corridor leading the students.  "Helga's angry with you."

"I told her I was going to be late.  And we had staircase issues," Basil said.

"Her brother's here," Godric said by way of explanation.

"Oh god, no wonder," said Basil, cringing.  "I'll see you at the feast, I hope."  And like a doomed general he led his army of students into the Great Hall.

Godric walked out of the Hall, past Lord Slytherin, who stood talking in hushed tones to some men he didn't recognize.  He heard voices in the Entrance Hall, and he paused to un-transfigure all of the garishification Rowena and Jasper had committed upon his person and his clothing.  Nervously, he tried to get his hair to do something other than be messy, but for all he knew he was making it worse, so he just gave up and walked into the Entrance Hall.

She was speaking to two men.  All three wore the same winged pig uniform, and as she spoke rapidly in Latin, she pointed to a parchment.

"Al-Aziz, I want you to go here first.  If anyone not on the list tries to come in, I want your wards to immobilize them, and I want you to tie them to me so I know _immediately_.  After you've set them up, inform me.  Bogdanovich, you're going to be watching the guests inside the Great Hall.  Keep a close eye on our known necromancers, and make sure ben Schlomo stays out of trouble, but _don't kill anyone._"

"What do you mean, Aurelia Sheffield?  I kill someone?  _Me?_  You insult!" said the brown-haired man.  "You insult very much, Aurelia, very much!"

"We all saw the bodies in Reykjavík, Bogdanovich," said the other, darker-skinned man.  "They were extremely dead.  Also in pieces.  I could not sleep for _weeks._"

"Yes, well, let's let bygones be bygones for now," she said, "and do as I tell you."

"Where have you sent my... where have you sent Alfhild?" asked the dark man, who Godric assumed must be al-Aziz.

"She's inside, wanted to talk to Hufflepuff.  Find her when you're done with the wards."  She sounded rather annoyed, and Godric felt bad for her.

But finally the two other Aurae left, and he could see her clearly as she studied the parchment.  She had cut her hair, and seemed to have learnt how to stand still for more than five seconds, but it was definitely her.

* * *

Rowena was having a good night so far.  She had talked to people!  It had not been about how untrustworthy she was!  She had found herself mainly in the company of Ari Stigandrison, and they busied themselves making fun of everybody else.  It was something Ari was uniquely suited for.  "Aethelmaer Glendower's looking very ill, don't you think?"

"He's getting kicked off the Council, I heard," said Rowena, smugly.

"Really?  Not old Aethie!  But who will stand up for the rights of the noble necromancers now?" asked Ari.

She snorted.  "Not me, that's for certain."

"Oh, that's right, you had that vampire thing happen," said Ari, shrugging it off more gracefully than she had.  "You have the worst luck with men, you know.  Speaking of which, who's _that?_" he asked, pointing at Lord de Malfoie, who was talking excitedly at Aurelius Bogdanovich.

"That," said Rowena, "is a married, extremely religious Muggle with two children.  I assume the lady is his wife or something similar."

"So he's not your type, then," said Ari.

"Or yours, for that matter," she said.  "But maybe we should rescue him from Bogdanovich."

"He _did_ make quite a mess in Iceland," said Ari.  "Father's contacts in the Althing were severely unimpressed.  I think they were demanding severed limbs by way of payment.  I mean, ones that they didn't get out of the deal already."

She blanched.  "Would you excuse me?  De Malfoie's got an army, and I'd hate if he got killed.  I'll talk to you at dinner."

She walked over to the two of them.  "Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt -- Aurelius Bogdanovich?"

"Ah!  Lady Ravenclaw!  Such a pleasure it is to meet you again!  I shall kiss your hand," said Bogdanovich.

"Actually," said Rowena, removing her hand from his grasp quickly, "I was wondering if you could check on my mother for me?  I don't want her to get lost; it's such a big castle, you see, and you know, a lady is prone to being overwhelmed when her sense of direction is tested."

"Oh, yes, yes.  Anything for the lady!  I will find her and bring her here, in no more time than it takes for the thestral to climb into the sky!"  And with that, he left.

"He's quite mad," she told Lord de Malfoie once he was out of earshot.  "But you know how it is, one of those people we _had_ to invite."

"Ooh, I know how that is," said Lady de Malfoie.  "Remember your cousins?" she demanded.  "Remember last Easter?"

"Let's not talk about last Easter, it gives me a headache," said Lord de Malfoie.

"He has the most _dreadful_ cousins," she said, gleefully.

"This is Lady Ravenclaw, Aveline.  She's a witch.  I'm sure she's got far more interesting things than to talk about my stupid cousins."

"You know, I think I know what sort of cousins you mean," said Rowena.  "Did they stay for months and months and months, eating you out of house and home, and complain about everything?"

"Exactly!" said Lady de Malfoie.

"I'm going to go find Julian," said Lord de Malfoie, looking disgruntled.

"Oh dear.  I hope I haven't offended him," said Rowena.  "He isn't that sort of guest at all."

"Oh, he's always grumpy like that," she said.  "He's not a night person."

They had a long conversation about cousins who never left, and a polite argument about what to do with rude servants.  Rowena had always considered Muggles a bit barbaric for using humans instead of house-elves.  A house-elf you could punish corporeally and not worry, but humans could _think_, so the usual punishments would just justify whatever ill-feeling they held towards their masters.  (And she thought it seemed a little cruel, but she decided not to mention that.)

She left when Basil brought in the students, and Lord de Malfoie came back with Julian in tow.  And then she realized what had been bothering her all through the discussion of servants.  The room was distinctly missing its twelve-foot-six baffled Transfigurator.  Who was pretty much an essential, if she was going to pass the whole thing off as a fundraising and publicity stunt.

When she ran into Helga, she said "Where's Godric?"

"Gone to talk to Sheffield," said Helga, shrugging.  "Probably wants to talk theory or -- oh!  That reminds me!  Hatim and Alfhild are off planning their escape, since after the feast they're sneaking off to get married.  But for all official intents and purposes, Jasper's showing them wards or something."

"Is Jasper in on it, or is he going to turn up and loudly ask where they are while I'm making excuses for them?" Rowena asked.

"I don't know, I just heard this from Basil," said Helga.  "Who, incidentally, is lucky to be alive, so if you run into him and he's not forthcoming, threaten him with _me_."

"All right," said Rowena.

"And my _brother's_ here," she added, glaring.  "He brought some girl called Mary with him, but I had the Aurae kick her out.  Who invited my _brother?_"

"I've no idea," said Rowena.  "You know I hate him."

"He's going to ask you for money," said Helga.

"I'll tell him I haven't got enough for _me_," she said.  "It's the gods' honest truth!  Anyway, I have to go find Godric and possibly hit him.  Although maybe I should be merciful, considering.  ...are you certain he wants to talk theory with _Sheffield?_"

Helga shrugged.  "Apparently he knows her."

"Huh.  Maybe he's thinking of someone else," said Rowena.  "You know how bad he is with names.  I suppose I'd better go save him."  She turned to look around for Aurae, but almost immediately ended up face to face with Helga's brother Leo.  He smiled winningly.  "Rowena!  How are you?"

There was no denying it.  He was _still_ absolutely ridiculously good-looking, and it was just _not fair._  Rowena had to reconsider her initial decision to simply tell him off.  He was far too pretty.

She decided to terrify him instead.

"Oh!  Leo!  I haven't seen you for so long!" she said.  "I'm so glad I ran into you!"  She hugged him.

He seemed encouraged.  "Yeah, me too.  Listen, I was wondering if you'd do a favor for an old friend."

"What a coincidence!  Because, you know, I was just wondering the same thing," she said.  She put an arm around his shoulder.  "How would you like to make a great deal of money, Leo?"

He looked pleasantly surprised.  "How?"

"Let me preface this, Leo, with a heartfelt statement," she said.  "I like you.  You're so independent!  And you don't give up!  I feel we're kindred spirits, really."

"Really?"

"Really," she said, putting her other hand over her heart.  "And I have chosen you for this little scheme of mine, Leo, because I feel you _deserve_ it.  You deserve the recognition, and the praise --"

"And the money?"

"And the money," she said, glad he had his priorities in order.  "Doubtless you have a wonderful business plan.  And I'm willing to split it with you fifty-fifty."

"But I thought --"

"But it's, as I mentioned, a _great_ deal of money, so you've nothing to worry about.  You'll want for nothing for the rest of your life," she said.

"What do I need to do?" he asked.  That baffled expression on his lovely face was simply glorious.  She grinned.

"Marry me," she said.  He looked shocked, and before he could get out another word, she continued.  "I know what you're thinking!  You're thinking, 'What on earth is she on about?'  You're thinking 'How will this be of any profit to anyone?'  Well, let me tell you.  My poor dear husband, may Hades care for his shade, saw fit to lock up all the money until I remarried.  Now, you'd think a charming lady such as myself would be able to find a husband relatively quickly, but alas!  They all seem to think that I murdered him!  _Murdered!_  In cold blood!  _Me!_  Can you _imagine_ what such people must think of me?"

"Er," said Leo, who looked to be imagining very well.  She was impressed.  She usually had to do all the work for him.

"And so they have spread vicious rumors and lies!  Oh, these are horrible people, Leo.  I pray every day to Hermes that wonderful people like you may never know the sting of meeting _those people._  It's dreadful!  They won't rest until they've ruined a lady's reputation beyond repair!  They may smile, and laugh, but their evil knows no bounds!  Why, that rumor about having an army of Inferi with him at the lead, I have no idea where _that_ one came from.  Do you?"

"Well," said Leo, who looked as though he might want to get a word in edgewise.  Or maybe flee.  It was hard to tell, with Leo.

"No!  Of course not!" she continued, ignoring him.  "Because you _know_ me better than that.  And _why_ I should need a Horcrux, well, I just don't know.  I mean, if I _was_ going to make a Horcrux, I would certainly kill someone less important than my own husband.  Wouldn't you think that's the most sensible route?"

"I suppose."  Leo was looking deeply uncomfortable by now.  She could almost see the connections forming in his tiny mind.  _Wait a moment, _he was thinking.I'm_ not that important.  What if she kills me?  What if she kills me right now?_

"I'm so glad you understand me, Leo," she said, winding the arm around his shoulder tighter.  "I feel like we're at the top of a cliff, Leo, you and I, at the top of a cliff, looking down at the magnificent vista of the future that lies before us!  And all we need is a little push before we can just _fly._"  She emphasized this with a hearty pat on the back.

"Er.  Well.  I'd be glad to help you out," said Leo, hesitantly.  "But."

"But?"  She affected disappointment.

"But I don't really think, er, Ethelinda would understand," said Leo.

"...Ethelinda?" Rowena asked blankly.

"Ethelinda!  My girl."

"Helga said your girl was called Mary."

"Ethelinda Mary," said Leo quickly.  "Sometimes she goes by her middle name.  Anyway--"

"Where is she, anyway?"

"She couldn't come," said Leo.  "Very sick.  Pox."

"Well, I'm sure if you explained to her --"

"She gets very jealous," said Leo.  "Poor dear.  _Very_ jealous.  Listen, it was wonderful seeing you again, but I have to go, er.  Meet with someone."

"If you ever want to reconsider, I'll be here!" she shouted after him.  And he was gone.  Satisfied with a job well done, Rowena walked out into the corridor to laugh maniacally.

Spotting Lord Salazar talking to her father and someone she didn't recognize, she decided she'd better save it for later, and worry about business now.  She walked over to ask if he'd seen Godric.

Her father was speaking, she realized, in a whisper.  "...not _my_ fault she --"  And as soon as he saw her, he fell silent.  Lord Salazar and the other man turned and looked at her, as if waiting for her to go away.

"I thought you were supposed to be going deaf," she said flatly, and without bothering to raise her voice.

Lord Salazar cleared his throat.  "What did you want?"

"I _wanted_ to know if you'd seen Godric, but since I haven't been invited into your fabulous _wrinkly-old-man treehouse_ with the 'no girls' sign, I suppose I can just go look for him myself."

"Rowena!" said her father.  "Don't be petulant."

"I'm not being petulant!  This is a natural reaction to being deemed untrustworthy by default!  _You_ didn't even deign to have a normal conversation with me all through your last visit," she snapped at her father.  Then she turned to Lord Salazar.  "And _you_ think I'm going to go haring off to sabotage the school _I came up with_ because I'm, I don't know, mad, and I just can't resist doing nasty things.  And _you,_" she snarled, turning to the third man, "who in Hades are you and what are _you_ going to accuse me of?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "You sure you want to keep her around, Salazar?  She seems a bit mad.  And probably untrustworthy."  He smirked.

"Why do you think I keep _you_ around, then?" Lord Salazar asked him mildly.  "Lady Ravenclaw, may I introduce you to Ximon Etxazarra?  He's on the Wizards' Council."

"I apologize for my semblance of madness, Lord Etxazarra," she said stiffly.  "But would somebody _please_ explain what's going on here?"

"Dealing with a situation, same as we always do," said Etxazarra.  "And I'm not a lord."

"It concerns Gualterus," said Lord Salazar.  "I think she should know."  He looked significantly at Rowena's father.

He cringed.  "'Wena --"

"DAD!  Don't call me that!"

"-- it's about your mother."

"If she's trying to marry me off again without my knowledge, I'm going to be very upset," said Rowena, "but what does it have to do with anything?"

He sighed.  "I've been pretending the hearing potions don't work so she won't go elsewhere to talk to her lackeys, and I don't think you have much to worry about, 'Wena."

"I _said_ \--"

"I think," he continued, "she's planning on killing me off so she can keep Fudge under better control."

Rowena stopped obsessing over the first syllable of her name.  "...no," she said quietly.  "No, she can't."

"See," said Etxazarra, "this is what _happens_ when you marry a murderous political climber, Gualt, you can't --"

"YOU SHUT UP," shouted Rowena, drawing her wand, and pointing it at his face.  "You shut _up._  Just shut up, and don't _smirk,_ and... and..."  In a sudden moment of overlucidity, she realized that she was threatening a member of the Wizards' Council, a crime for which she could be sent to Drear.  A crime which would do very little for her father.  With great effort, she withdrew her wand and let her hand drop.

"I _told_ you, I didn't want to upset her," her father was saying.  She felt like he was in a different room, in a different country, talking about somebody else.

"She had to know sooner or later," said Lord Slytherin.

"She's very sensitive --"

"Oversensitive," said Etxazarra.

"No," said Rowena.  "I won't let her."  Drear was bloody well worth it.  She turned, clutching her wand like a dagger, and started stalking back towards the Great Hall.  Plan be damned.  Feast be damned.  Mum be _damned._

"Lady Ravenclaw, where are you --"

"Rowena!  Don't --"

"_Remigro!_" snapped Etxazarra, and Rowena was jerked back in front of the three.  Etxazarra snatched her wand as she started to hex him.  "Are you mad, or stupid?" he demanded.

"Give it back," she snarled at him, and tried to take another step -- but she was stuck fast.  "Let me go!  I'll --"

"She's got the Aurae, Rowena.  You'll be killed," said her father.

"I have precedent!  I have -- Athena said -- but she _can't!_"

"Why not?" asked Etxazarra.

"Ximon, don't agitate her," said Lord Salazar.

"You _taught_ me to _read,_" she said to her father, blinking back tears.  "You taught me to _read_, she can't _do_ that.  I won't _let_ her."

"Definitely mad," said Etxazarra.  "Did it perhaps occur to you that this isn't an urgent situation?"

"We're working on ways to keep her from moving too soon," said Salazar.

"Oh, too soon!  What's enough time, then?" Rowena demanded.  "What's enough time, tell me, for my father to live?  Are we talking years here, or have you decided that he's had enough time if he survives another month?  Are you just deciding this by yourself, or are you in consultation with your sister Atropos, or --"

"My sister was murdered," said Lord Salazar harshly.

"...I.  Er.  I forgot that you _had_ a sister," she said uneasily.  "I'm.  Sorry?  Really.  Only I thought she'd died normally."

Something about her surprise softened his expression.  "You couldn't have known," he said.  "Actually, you remind me a bit of her.  Very idealistic.  Hated everybody.  Wrote _terrible_ poetry."

"I'm not idealistic!" said Rowena.  She tried to stop sniffling, and failed.  "...and my poetry's not _that_ bad," she added half-heartedly.  She had never told anybody but Ari about the poetry.  Not even Helga.  "What's, er.  What's your solution?"

"We don't know yet," said Etxazarra.

"But I'll tell you when we've worked something out," said Lord Salazar.  "Meanwhile, I have something that may help prepared for the feast."

"You'll tell me _really_, or you'll just tell me roundaboutly, or you'll just tell someone else and assume they'll tell me, because you want me to react in a certain way?" Rowena demanded.

"I'll tell you really," said Lord Salazar.

"What's at the feast, then?" she asked.

"You'll know it when you see it," said Lord Salazar.

She sighed.  "This had all better work," she told him.

"It will," he said.  And she nearly believed him.  "Master Gryffindor, incidentally, went that way," he said, pointing towards the Entrance Hall."

"Thanks," she said.  "I'm going to _kill_ him.  ...not _really_," she added quickly, just in case anyone should have any doubts.  Retrieving her wand and unsticking her feet, she dried her eyes and departed in search of Godric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Notes:** The gen zine I mentioned last chapter will probably be called _The Hogwarts Express_, and is still recruiting.  If you're at all interested, go to norisis.livejournal.com and comment!
> 
> Rowena's reference to Athena here is not just random -- she's referring to the part of _The Eumenides_ where Athena, acting as judge, rules that Orestes, having killed his mother in revenge because she killed his father, does not deserve to be punished by the Furies, because fathers are more important as parents than mothers.  This blanket generalization seems pretty bizarre nowadays, but if anyone would cite Greek tragedy as legal precedent at times of great emotional distress, you just know it would be Rowena.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** This is the first chapter that isn't pretty much pure gen, I think, so if it's not your thing, sorry.
> 
> Also, that gen zine I've been plugging has a name now! Come write or draw for The Hogwarts Express, at community.livejournal.com/expresszine.

Godric didn't know what he ought to say. He considered a few clever options, but then decided that they weren't clever at all. Finally, he decided that he was overcomplicating a simple conversation, and that he should just _talk._ He cleared his throat nervously. "Clio?"

She looked up from her plans, seemingly about to snap at him, but then her weary expression broke into a wide smile. "Godric! What are you doing here?"

"Teaching Transfiguration," he said, trying not to look smug. "You?"

"Telling people what to do," she said, making no such effort. "Sit down so I can see you properly," she said, and Godric complied, although the floor was very dirty. "So you're their great Transfigurator to rival Fudge? I _wondered_ who they'd got, but Our Lady of the Winged Pigs didn't describe you very well."

"Er. You mean Lady Aeaeae?" Godric asked, going a bit red. "I er, I may have shouted at her a bit last time I saw her."

"Yeah, but she acted like you were stupid or _violent_ or something," said Clio. She leaned against the wall, frowning. "I don't know _why._ Then, she never gets anything right, does she?"

"Aren't you under an Unbreakable Oath to serve her?" Godric asked. He remembered Ersikyne saying something about that.

"Yeah, but I don't have to _like_ her," said Clio. "She has us do all sorts of horrible things and her deadlines are _completely_ unreasonable, and I _hate her voice._ I hope your side wins, really; pink and blue just aren't my colors."

"I think you look good," blurted Godric, before he realized how stupid he sounded. He blushed. The tunic of her uniform cut off just above the knee, and was quite a scandalous thing for a woman to wear, so he'd been trying his best not to notice how it looked on her.

"Thanks!" she said, grinning. "I'm so glad you got out of that place, though, I was worried about you."

He went even redder. She had _worried?_ "Oh, er--"

"I was going to see if I could have Fudge thrown into an oubliette, but apparently I don't have the authority to do that without framing him for treason or something," she said. "He still should've paid you more. You should have asked him."

"I didn't want to get him angry," said Godric, who didn't want to get stuck on this subject. "But at least I'm out of there now, right?"

"You've got a point," she said. "How'd you end up here, anyway?"

"Oh, um. I sort of know Lady Aeaeae's daughter," he admitted.

"And she hired you? And you trusted her?" Clio asked, staring.

"What do you mean?" Godric asked, blinking. "Why wouldn't I have trusted her?"

"Oh come on," said Clio. "Everybody _knows_ she killed her husband. Probably with something that scary friend of hers grew. And that whole mess with the Inferi was pretty bloody suspicious."

"But why would she..." _He was only a Muggle,_ Godric remembered her saying. What if Clio was right? But she was _Rowena._ The worst she'd ever done to _him_ was telling Helga when to throw him off the roof. And that had probably been Helga's idea in the first place. Rowena had been consistently nasty, but the worst things were _always_ Helga's ideas. "Well, I suppose it's possible," he said. "I don't know her _that_ well."

"I'm serious, Godric, be careful around that woman," said Clio. "She probably killed Ersikyne, too."

"_What?_" Godric stared. "But I liked Ersikyne. He's dead? How did he die?"

"I told you! The Inferi thing," said Clio. "How do you think I got to be in charge?"

"I just thought he got too old or something. _What_ Inferi thing?"

"That bitch colluded with --"

There was the clearing of a throat, and they turned to see Rowena standing several yards away, looking quite small and lonely. "It's a long story," she said quietly. He couldn't see her face, because she was looking at the floor in front of her, but she sounded frightened.

"Good evening, Lady Ravenclaw," said Clio stiffly.

"You don't have to call me that," said Rowena. "Godric, you're supposed to be in the --"

"What do you mean, he's _supposed_ to be anywhere?" snapped Clio.

"I'd... I'd really rather not argue with you tonight, Aurelia," said Rowena, plainly biting back some less polite response. "I'm having a very bad night."

"Well, it could certainly get worse," said Clio, glowering.

"That was my point exactly, Aurelia," said Rowena. Godric could hear the strain in her voice from having to be polite. "There are going to be some duels after the feast, incidentally, if you'd like --"

Clio paid her no mind. "Godric, I'm going to make sure my Auras are following orders. I'll talk to you later," she said cheerfully, then left.

He was left confused, with a very relieved-looking Rowena. "What happened there? She's usually very nice."

"I've yet to see any proof of that," said Rowena bitterly. "And it's _Aurae_, not... why are you sitting on the floor? It's dirty."

"So I could talk to Clio," said Godric.

"You could talk to her perfectly well if you were hanging upside-down by your ankles," she said. "Now get up."

He got to his feet, dusting himself off. "I just -- I mean -- she _told_ me --"

"Really, you ought to stand up for yourself," said Rowena. "I don't see why you'd let _her_ tell you what to do. She hasn't any reason to want you dead."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rowena, I doubt she wants you _dead,_" said Godric. "I mean, why don't you just explain to her about... er. Whatever happened. I mean, _obviously_ you don't kill people. If you just _told_ her..." He trailed off, because everything he said just seemed to make her look more and more depressed. "Or not?"

She sighed heavily, and motioned for him to follow her. "Come on, the feast is starting in a few more minutes. Do you have everything ready for the entremets?"

"So long as the house-elves have got the peacock ready," said Godric. "What are you doing for yours?"

"Marzipan chess set," she said.

"That's not very spectacular," he said, a bit disappointed.

"You'll be singing a different tune when I kick your sorry arse at chess," she said. She sounded almost smug, and when she wasn't looking, he grinned despite the insult. Rowena might be unpleasant sometimes -- all right, nearly all of the time -- but she always looked so _sad_ lately, and a few accusations of idiocy were worth it to see her looking happy again.

* * *

After the first course appeared on their plates, Rowena immediately began introducing people to him, which was something Godric had been dreading all night. He knew soon enough that the names and faces would dissolve into the back of his skull and he'd never recognize any of them elsewhere. "This is Godric of Gryffindor. He's a very good Transfigurator," she told the two men on her left. "Godric," she said, "these are the Stigandrsons, Hrafen and Ari." Hrafen was soberly-dressed, but his brother wore long robes of gold and green, with birds in flight woven into the pattern, as befitted a nobleman. "A pleasure," said Ari Stigandrson in Latin. Godric nodded. "And these," she told the brothers, "are the Hufflepuffs."

"We've met," said Helga, who seemed decidedly unimpressed.

"You have?" Rowena sounded too pleased to have noticed her tone.

"We have?" asked Ari Stigandrson, sounding rather skeptical.

"At a duel," said Helga.

"Helga --" started Basil.

"Now you, Hufflepuff, I do remember," said Stigandrson. "You ruined my best robes. But ...oh, it is the angry little Herbologist!"

"I'm not little!" snapped Helga.

"Every feast," said Basil, sighing. "Every feast! She gets angry at every feast!"

"Tell him that I'm not little!" she ordered Basil.

"Helga, you're only five feet --"

"My trees could beat up your trees, you know that? There'd be nothing left but turpentine and needles!"

"I think we can all agree that, seeing as we're not _four years old,_ it doesn't really matter," said Basil. "Anyway, what do you care about him? He cheats at duels!"

Stigandrson seemed to have something to say about this, but Lady Aeaeae interrupted him.

"I certainly hope there will be no _potions_ tonight," she said, in a whiny, loud voice that silenced all conversation. Godric grimaced and wished he could hide somehow. Instead he looked sadly down at his unfinished apple muse and pretended he was a profoundly deaf boulder. Couldn't she at _least_ wait until the second course to start ruining the feast?

"Funny you should mention that," said Lord Slytherin from the other end of the table. He sounded very pleased with himself. He waved his hand and the remains of the first course vanished.

Well, that was no good. Godric _liked_ apple muse. But Lord Slytherin was going to introduce the first entremet, so he stopped sulking and paid attention.

Lord Slytherin, with what was either remarkable slight-of-hand or house-elf-assisted wandless magic, made one goblet after another appear out of thin air and set them out. Godric remembered these well; he'd stayed up late last night coaxing some of the wine in each glass to coalesce into the shapes of sea creatures. Then, with the air of a showman, Lord Slytherin brought out four small vials. "I have here four fairly interesting potions. Because of the nature of these potions, however, I'm afraid we're going to have to change the order of things just a bit. Master Hufflepuff, would you please draw the dueling circle?"

Basil waved his wand, and a large red ring of smoke appeared at the front of the hall.

"Thank you," said Lord Slytherin. "Now, would all those who intend to participate in the duels please cast their Patronuses into the circle?"

"Patro_ni_," Rowena muttered. "Aur_ae_ and Patro_ni_. Doesn't anybody speak _Latin_ anymore?"

What seemed like half the high table raised their wands and cast silver smoke into the circle, and a veritable bestiary of silvery animals coalesced in the ring. Jasper said something -- it sounded like Latin numbers -- and the animals dissolved, leaving smoky copies of themselves.

"What's that for?" Godric asked.

"It's to keep anyone from backing out of it once they've signed up to have their arses kicked," said Rowena, who'd cast what looked like a pigeon. "You've never heard of Patroni? Everybody's got a different animal."

"I know what a _Patronus_ is, I'd just never seen one," snapped Godric. Several well-known Transfigurators had proposed that an Animagus could only transform into the animals they had for his Patronus. Most of them were less well-known for their contributions to magical theory and more well-known for having blown themselves up, so Godric was pretty certain they were wrong. Still, it was an interesting idea.

"You have never been to a feast before?" Hrafen Stigandrson asked.

"I wasn't allowed to stay for the dueling," said Godric, feeling sheepish. It prompted a raised eyebrow from Stigandrson; Rowena just rolled her eyes.

"Now," said Lord Slytherin, "I have here four potions. All of them will greatly improve the chances of the duelists who receive them and, fortunately for the lucky four, all of them can be diluted in wine with no ill effects. This one here is a potion of my own invention, which renders the drinker impervious to pain and injury for several hours -- if anyone would like to contribute a clever name, please do." He poured a dark potion into one goblet of wine.

"Then, of course, there is the Draught of Peace, which calms the nerves of the drinker so that they need not panic uselessly." He poured this vial into another goblet.

"The third potion is Wit-Sharpening Potion; keen insight, I'm sure you'll all agree, is a valuable weapon against the most terrible of enemies." This potion went into the third goblet.

"And finally, the one I'm sure everyone is most interested in -- Felix Felicis. It needs no introduction." He poured several drops of this liquid into the last goblet. "And now, you may all pick your poison," he said, with a sardonic grin at Lady Aeaeae.

With another snap of his fingers, the four goblets became thirty-three, each identical and full of swimming, jumping wine-fish.

Godric had never heard of Felix Felicis, but he _desperately_ wished Lord Slytherin had just handed the last goblet to him. He'd never heard of it, but it meant luck _twice_ in _Latin,_ so it had to be good. Godric had never been lucky even _once._

But once Godric got his wine, he suspected it would do nothing to him but make him drunk if he had too much -- and there was certainly not enough in the cup to do that, since it was the same size as everyone else's. Rowena seemed to be looking happier than she had since the argument with Clio, though, and Godric wondered if she'd got anything in hers.

The second course was mostly soups and cheese tarts, and passed mostly without event, though the entremet afterwards was a complicated-looking bit of Arithmancy that Jasper had put together into a strange game. The object of the game was to make one's marzipan warrior stab marzipan Inferi, which one was then permitted to eat. Basil complained loudly that you didn't _kill_ Inferi that way, while Stigandrson pointed out that really, you didn't kill Inferi at all. Godric didn't care either way, though, because he liked marzipan. He managed to win one round of it and nearly won a second, so he was quite pleased with himself all through the third course, which was mainly rabbit and lamb.

It was followed with an entremet prepared by Helga; a beautiful mint tree sprouting from the center of the table, bearing fruits shaped like animals. First came jellyfish, crabs, scorpions, and Quintapeds, then fishes, lizards, birds, and all manner of game animals. Finally, at the very top, a blue and pink fruit grew into a rough likeness of a woman wearing the winged pig of House Aeaeae.

"Our guest of honor gets the first choice," said Helga sweetly but without much sincerity, sending the tiny potted tree over to Lady Aeaeae with a flick of her wand.

"Oh, you're very kind, but it's yours, after all," said Lady Aeaeae, just as saccharine, sending it back.

"Why, thank you!" Helga said cheerfully, and she appeared to take great pleasure in biting off the fruit woman's head.

The next course passed far too quickly for Godric; it was beef and pork and beef and beef and also some beef, and afterwards it was his turn to be entertaining and impressively magical.

"Well," he said, as the beef and pork (and beef!) disappeared. "Erm."

Rowena was glaring at him murderously, probably because he wasn't being entertaining or impressive or anything but slightly terrified and maybe feeling a bit ill; perhaps it was all those marzipan corpses. He gulped, and looked at Clio. She smiled encouragingly, and it didn't help his nervousness at all, but at least Rowena couldn't kill him with her around. So he went on. "Er. Ah. You all know Lord Slytherin and his son, and a lot of you've had Helga do your terrifying carnivorous gardens for you -- they're _nice_ terrifying carnivorous gardens, don't give me that look! -- but you're probably wondering who the idiot in the middle is. That would be me. Er. Obviously. Well, er. I'm Godric, and I teach Transfiguration here at the school, and I promise you I'm not usually quite this stupid when I'm not absolutely terrified. So, er. I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller, but I hope the thing I did is entertaining. The entremet, I mean."

And, hoping he didn't make a fool of himself, he tapped the table once, and a small platter of roasted vegetables sprang up from nowhere. Then, concentrating, he started the real magic.

One of the radishes became a short, red-faced commoner -- either a particularly well-off peasant or a merchant down on his luck. A parsnip -- now turned into a beautiful willowy woman -- walked by, and the radish sprang up from where he sat and began to speak to her in a squeaky, incomprehensible vegetable garble. She laughed and answered him, and the two seemed to be getting along well enough when an exotic carrot-knight in fine purple-and-gold armor rode up on the back of a squab.

The parsnip was suddenly very pleased to speak only to the carrot, and the radish went back to being mopey. There was laughter from the table; the plot was a common one, and Godric had been counting on the others to know it well enough to understand the characters without being given any dialogue.

Then, suddenly -- and the trick was to keep the feasters from noticing -- a great blue bird-beast swooped down from the ceiling and grabbed the knight in its terrible claws. It soared up to the ceiling, then flew the entire length of the Great Hall, breathing illusory fire at the students, and roaring quite convincingly. Godric was careful to ensure that everyone had had a good look at it before it flew up into the rafters with its prize.

The table's attention turned back to the radish and the parsnip as they argued shrilly. The lady seemed distraught, the radish determined. He took up the sword their kidnapped companion had dropped, and climbed, with some difficulty, onto the squab. The lady gestured wildly, blocking his path -- she did not want him to go! She would not forgive herself if he died!

He ignored her gestures and her arguments, spurring the squab onward. At this point Godric brought the beast down from the rafters to perch on the bare remains of Helga's tree. The knight clung awkwardly to a high branch, attempting to climb down stealthily, while the bird-thing cleaned its scales.

The radish rode up to the beast, narrowly missing a jet of fire and waving the sword feebly. With one swipe of its talons, the beast took the squab from under the radish and cooked it. In desperation he swung wildly at the beast with his blade.

It was looking bad for the vegetable men, but suddenly a long rope wound itself around the creature's neck. It tried to fly away, but the rope closed tight about its neck. Slumping to the ground, the dying bird-beast revealed the fine lady, having tied the rope to the trunk of the tree. She helped her carrot knight down from the tree, and admonished the radish, who had the decency to give her the sword. She slit the bird-beast's throat quickly, then returned the sword to her knight.

The radish shrugged to himself, seeming to accept his lot in life as the lady and her knight bade him goodbye. As they walked away, all three of the characters in the drama settled back into their former shapes, and the beast, magnificent even in death, became a beautiful roast peacock, its plumage still intact. Slowly, reality returned to the Great Hall.

There was riotous applause. It surprised Godric, partly because he simply wasn't expecting it, and partly because he'd been so wrapped up in the transfiguration and the story that he hardly remembered his surroundings. He chanced a look at Clio, who was beaming -- at him -- and he tried not to blush.

"I have to say, I have never seen Fudge do anything in person," said Hrafen Stigandrson, "but that was very impressive."

"That was quite good for simple spectacle, Godric," said Rowena, who was actually _smiling._ Smugly, of course, but smugly _for_ him. "He was _panicking_ over it," she told Stigandrson. "He always panics. I don't know why."

"It appears to work," said Stigandrson, raising an eyebrow.

"We all have our inspirations, Hrafen," his brother pointed out.

"Yes, but yours are so costly," said Hrafen.

"_We_ can afford to buy so much more than _panic,_" said Ari. "Perhaps soon the Transfigurator will be able to do the same; as a scholar, I am certain he appreciates fine things like books and instruments of magic. Rowena tells me you studied with Fudge," he said.

"Er," said Godric. "Yes, I --"

"But I have heard that you were Fudge," he continued.

"I learned most of what I know about Transfiguration while I was working for Master Fudge," said Godric.

"He's _very_ good at vague answers, I will give you that," said Ari Stigandrson to Rowena. "Have you been teaching him that?"

"Look, I'll tell you about it later, all right?" said Rowena, a bit more quietly.

"What? But I -- you won't --" said Godric.

"Yes she will," said Stigandrson lightly. "There's no need to worry, Transfigurator, I never gossip about friends." He smiled. Godric could tell why Helga didn't like him, but he didn't seem _bad,_ and Godric also knew how getting into an argument with such a well-heeled guest would make him look. He decided to shut up, and picked at his food all through the fish course. He didn't think he liked porpoise very much, but perhaps the food was too fancy for his palate.

Finally, Rowena's chess entremet arrived. "Think of it as a warm-up for the duel," she joked, after asking for challengers. She beat Ari Stigandrson soundly within five moves, and while they brought out the rest of the desserts, she played the next game against her father.

And finally, after long aimless conversations about sailing and fistfights and aura-lenses, Lord Slytherin announced that the dueling would begin.

Basil walked to the edge of the dueling circle, where the ghostly false Patroni politely edged back into the corner -- all except for a transparent badger. Basil knelt to touch it, and for a moment it snapped back into a true, silvery Patronus before vanishing. He stood again. "As I am the dueling master of this school, I think it's only right that I duel first. Lady Ravenclaw, would you care to help me show them how it's done?"

"Certainly," said Rowena. She raised her arm, and the pigeon perched on it briefly before disappearing. Godric watched as the two of them stood in the center of the circle, bowed, and then began to duel. His eyes weren't quick enough to see what was going on -- all he could see were sparks and flurries of frantic wand movement, and that Rowena was good at spells but seemed not to understand how to _get out of the bloody way_ what was she _thinking agh oh no!_, and he clutched the table in suspense and vicarious terror. Still, it was close -- Rowena seemed to know _weirder_ spells, at least, and fancy blocks -- before Basil Stunned her cleanly. She acknowledged her defeat with surprising good humor, got to her feet, and sat down at the table again.

"That was planned," she said under her breath.

"He cannot win his own fights?" asked Stigandrson, laughing.

Helga rolled her eyes. "No, that's you."

"He probably would have won anyway. I just prefer to be prepared, that's all," said Rowena. "Most of it was real."

"All right," said Basil, "who _else_ wants to fight?" He looked expectantly at the table. "Come on, who else cast their Patronus?"

Stigandrson rose. "I will duel," he said loudly. "Although I think I should appreciate some little bonus, since I'm fighting a werewolf."

"Really? Seeing as you cheat and I'm a hell-beast, _I_ think we're pretty evenly matched," said Basil. He cleared his throat, and addressed their audience at large. "I would like to thank Master Stigandrson, incidentally, for being a terrible duelist; it's how I met my wife."

"_Basil!_" Helga said. "Don't be _cruel,_ there's plenty of time for that after you win."

"Her first words to me were, I believe, 'Shut up,'" said Basil. "You can see we've kept up the same level of conversation through the years."

Stigandrson rolled his eyes. "Tell me, what kind of name is Hufflepuff, anyway?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Basil, shrugging. "I made it up off the top of my head."

Stigandrson seemed annoyed that Basil wasn't insulted; he shook his head as his corvine Patronus alighted on his shoulder. The two of them bowed, the duel began.

Stigandrson was a _much_ better duelist than Rowena, though he was just as theatrical about it. He moved gracefully, and with surprising speed, while Basil dodged hastily, only narrowly escaping his hexes. There was a short, hypnotic few moments when the two of them were bouncing the same curse back and forth at each other with such perfect time that it was like watching a pendulum.

Suddenly, Basil ducked to the floor, breaking the rhythm of the duel, and Stigandrson scrambled to re-aim his wand. Basil disarmed him quickly, while he was off balance, and Stigandrson muttered something about werewolf magic. Helga gave him a wide, smug grin as Basil gave his wand back.

The next challenger was one of the tall, bland men who Godric had been introduced to as a relative of Rowena's on her father's side, although he looked like he might have been Jasper's younger brother. Then, names and faces were quickly beginning to blur together for Godric. He fought methodically, with a sort of fierce detachment, and it seemed to Godric that Basil was trying to trick him and not doing very well. Finally, Basil managed to hex him an instant before he blocked. He was beginning to look a bit exhausted.

And then one of the Aurae stepped forward. Godric recognized him as Bogdanovich, the one who Clio had warned not to kill anyone. Bogdanovich smiled widely. "I wish to challenge the Master Hufflepuff in the duel, yes." His Patronus, which was some sort of giant weasel thing Godric didn't recognize, ambled up to him, and Basil looked quietly terrified. Godric knew that sort of look; it was how people used to look at _him_ when they'd just accidentally insulted him and were wondering if they could outrun him.

They bowed, and suddenly hexes were whirling through the air -- vicious, terrifying ones, enough to sever limb from body, hexes not normally used after feasts, or even in honor duels -- and Basil was doing all the dodging. Bogdanovich seemed pleased enough with himself, until Basil began to deflect the hexes back at him. The Aura blanched at nearly having his own eyes cursed out, and scaled back to pleasant hexes that only caused jaundice and leprosy. Basil had caught his breath, and it looked like he might have a chance -- and since he'd won so many duels in a row, why _shouldn't_ he? -- but then Basil dropped his wand.

Actually, it looked more like he'd thrown it into the center of the ring. There was an awkward pause.

"Oh dear," said Basil flatly. "Look at that! You've disarmed me. Very good."

Bogdanovich seemed grumpy. "Why yes, I must have," he said. "But you, you were doing so well before!"

Basil shrugged. "Can't win everything, can you? I must've worn myself out. I concede." And he picked up his wand and left, looking intensely relieved.

"What was that all about?" Godric whispered.

"If he'd won, he'd have to become an Aura and swear his life to the Chief," said Stigandrson.

"Frankly, I can't imagine a more depressing life," said Rowena, grimacing. "I don't know how sensible people like Alfhild and Hatim can stand following my mad mother's orders. And Bogdanovich is supposed to be pretty bloodthirsty --"

"The Reykjavík incident," said Stigandrson. "Not pretty."

Bogdanovich shouted "All right, so who wants the dueling?"

There was silence.

"Oh come on!" he shouted. "I am very nice! Will not make you win! Is only a game! Ha ha?"

Aurelia Bergfalk, the blonde woman, stood. "I will."

"Oh, but I should not hurt a pretty lady like you," said Aurelius Bogdanovich, laughing. "That would be --"

"I have heard it all before, Vukasin," she said, rolling her eyes. Her Patronus, an odd, bat-eared dog, met her as she approached the ring. Without giving him time to prepare, she bowed, and began to duel.

Bogdanovich's attacks were just as vicious as before, but Bergfalk managed to dodge them, and as they fought, she managed to back him up against the edge of the dueling ring, until finally he stepped out. The line on the ground flashed once, and Bogdanovich's wand sailed out of his hand into Bergfalk's.

He was no longer grinning; after she handed his wand back, he returned to his seat at the High Table, muttering.

"Well, then," said Bergfalk cheerily, looking at the remaining Patroni -- a hawk, a most undoglike canid, and a tall, shaggy dog. "We've got Hatim, Sheffield, and somebody I don't recognize. I promise I won't bite."

And the dark-skinned Aura, al-Aziz, stood and collected his hawk Patronus. "I think I will duel you," he said.

"I always beat you, you know," she pointed out, smirking.

"Not _always._"

And when this duel began, it was more like dancing than fighting. Whenever Bergfalk threw a curse, al-Aziz blocked it perfectly; she deflected his Arithmantic curses with equal ease. The spells darted back and forth like multicolored fireflies.

Then al-Aziz did something -- an odd gesture with his wand, and suddenly Bergfalk's curses bounced back at her.

"Oh come on. You never get this spell to work," she said, surprised. Her voice sounded tinny and distant.

"But I have!" he insisted, pleased with himself. "I realized my mistake just now!" She kept testing, and found that, though she could move about with perfect ease, none of her spells would get past some invisible barrier. She conceded, though she seemed quite pleased about it.

And then it was Clio versus al-Aziz. "I wouldn't want to be him," said Stigandrson.

"I _know,_" said Basil, apparently having found something they agreed on. "He doesn't _look_ afraid."

"Why should he be?" Godric asked.

Basil blinked. "Aurelia Sheffield? She's _terrifying._"

"And evil," added Stigandrson.

"No she isn't! How would _you_ know?" Godric snapped.

"You have terrible taste in women, Godric," said Rowena, rolling her eyes.

"Terrible, slightly scary taste," added Basil, horrified. "Sheffield? She'd lop your ears off for fun, sell them on Knockturn, and then steal them back in a fortnight!"

"You married a _defense herbologist,_" Stigandrson pointed out.

"Yes, but I have reasons for my ear-lopping," said Helga. "I do hope she doesn't hurt him too much," she added, worriedly. "Hatim's brilliant."

Godric shushed them all and leaned forward to watch the duel. And this time, it was a real duel. Al-Aziz started chanting under his breath as soon as they'd bowed, and Clio began to attack quickly, with cruel, simple curses. Godric had seen her win fights before -- but those had been _bar_ fights, mostly physical, the kind of thing he'd been hired to stop, and he'd stayed out of them both as a courtesy to her and because she was wonderful to watch.

Al-Aziz wasn't some unsuspecting idiot who picked fights on purpose. And he wasn't drunk. He blocked every single curse, with amazing speed, and sent a few of his own right back, and even she seemed taken aback.

They circled each other warily, al-Aziz repairing holes in his Arithmantic armor, Clio pulling together some sort of magical protection of her own. Godric thought he recognized some of al-Aziz' Arithmancy, but he suspected she didn't, and he wished he could shout help to Clio.

And then al-Aziz struck. With one well-placed curse, he managed to completely shatter her own wards, and quickly sent another hex at her -- a fireball. She put up her arm to shield her face, and Godric nearly leapt out of his seat, but the flames dissipated harmlessly. She opened her eyes, and smiled.

"She must be a _werewolf!_" Stigandrson said.

"Don't be ridiculous, that's not how it works," said Basil. "You just recover a little faster, is all."

"She's taken the potion," said Rowena, in a flat, strange voice. "She's taken the imperviousness potion, and he's had the Felix Felicis. He wouldn't have been able to hit her otherwise. She's too good." She sounded horrified, though Godric couldn't fathom why.

"Rowena? What's wrong?" Helga asked.

"I thought it would be... it... it's nothing," said Rowena sharply. "I'm just tired."

Meanwhile, Clio was taking advantage of the potion, dismantling al-Aziz' wards with glee, without bothering to dodge his hexes. She finally just waded through all of his magic and knocked his feet out from under him with a sweep of her leg. "Fine!" he shouted, throwing his hands up. "I relent! The duel is yours!" He offered her his wand, and shrugging, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Well, then," said Clio, smiling with predatory enjoyment of her invincibility. "Who do we have left?" The lone remaining Patronus was an ugly sort of dog-beast, with ears like a bear's and all the dignity of a cutpurse. Alioth Nigellus stood and walked to the circle with an attempt at a sneer. It didn't conceal his terror.

"I suppose I should have gone earlier," said Alioth. His smile was weak.

"I suppose you should have," snorted Clio. "Hufflepuff taught you to cast a Patronus?"

"No," said Alioth. "My great-grandfather studied Dementors for Balthazar Slytherin. We still have them around, sometimes." He looked bleak.

"How nice," said Clio. "Well, then. Let's begin!" And she bowed, and sent her first curse flying, and Alioth barely had time to dodge. But he did -- and that was pretty much all he did for the first few seconds. He seemed to have given up altogether, and Godric couldn't blame him -- he wondered if it was really sporting, but he'd cast his Patronus and it seemed to be a matter of honor -- and then Alioth cast his first hex.

It didn't do anything -- not _visibly,_ at least -- but it seemed to frighten Clio for an instant, and suddenly the boy was sending a volley of hexes at her -- hexes that didn't seem to do _anything._ And it was throwing her completely off balance. Godric worried that she was being hurt, but he was only a _student,_ and she'd just taken a fireball in the arm, hadn't she?

And she _snarled_ and recovered, nearly, and though she winced every time he hexed her, she began to fight back. He was terrified, and he no longer bothered to hide it, and do what he might to dodge her, it wasn't working. "_Block her!_ You _know this!_" Basil was whispering under his breath, but he looked to be losing ground quickly.

With a final spell from Clio, cast in a snarling tone, a cluster of purple tendrils shot from her wand, strangling him and snatching his wand away.

"Some interesting things you're teaching your students," said Clio, waving her wand to dissolve the spell. Alioth dropped to the floor, gasping, and she threw his wand back.

He took the wand, looking rather ashamed. Godric couldn't see _why_ \-- he really shouldn't have expected to win a duel with the leader of the Aurae Aurelii.

"I think he did quite well, considering who he was up against," said Basil, shrugging.

"I suppose," said Clio. She smiled painfully. "A rousing series of duels. Many thanks to our hosts. But I should go check some of the wards." And she bowed, and left the Hall before anyone could say anything more.

"Well, _that_ certainly made her look stable," said Ari.

"You shouldn't be so insulting; she might find out about it," said his brother.

"As though I couldn't defend myself," he snapped.

"I don't think she'd actually _attack_ anyone," said Basil. "Her job's to keep the other Aurae from doing that. I wonder what Alioth _used._"

"Mental hexes," said Rowena. "Not that she needs them. She's already completely --"

"I think all of you are being _horrible,_" said Godric, doing his best not to snarl. "She's a real person, you know." Trying to keep his temper, he added, "I am going to see that she's all right, while you _wonderfully_ polite people can continue to tear her to bits in her absence." He stood to leave, because if he started shouting in Clio's defense it wouldn't help her at all.

"Oh come on, Godric, don't be an idiot," said Rowena. "You're supposed to stay _here._"

"Idiocy is in my nature, and so is distaste for cruelty," said Godric. "Interpret me as you will. I know you won't be as _charitable_ as you were with poor Clio." And with that, he left, trying not to be angry. _They're just being people. People always think that other people aren't really people, you know that, Godric. Don't be like that._

He caught up with poor Clio in the corridor. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled rather tiredly. "I'm all right," she said, wincing. "Well, mostly. Just... sometimes I wonder if I'm up to this damn job, is all."

"Oh, I know how that is," said Godric.

"How could you? Technically the Unbreakable Vow's supposed to keep them in control, but mostly it's _me._ And none of your students like to hurt people for fun."

"Clio, you hurt people for _money,_" Godric pointed out.

"But they _deserve_ it!" Clio said earnestly. "Unless they don't. But that's for the Council to sort out, and my customers before."

"Oh, all right, then, if the _Council_ says it's all right," said Godric.

"Oh, shut up," she said, smirking. "As if your entremet wasn't for _their_ benefit. Not that I'm complaining, mind, it was brilliant."

He tried not to blush. "I'm glad you liked it."

She grinned. "So'm I. Why don't you show me around the castle, hm?"

"I would, but don't you have to go work for the Evil Overlady?" asked Godric.

"What Lady Aeaeae doesn't know won't hurt me," she said smugly.

"Er. Well, the castle's all shifty and movey," said Godric. "So hopefully we won't get lost. But I think I sort of know my way around by now."

He took her to see Lord Slytherin's alchemy laboratory, where she seemed impressed and slightly disgusted at the poisonous snakes, and Basil's Defense classroom seemed _nearly_ up-to-snuff in her expert opinion. She seemed a bit taken aback by the library. "I didn't know they _had_ that many books," she said, frowning, as they left. "I thought it was just the Bible, and maybe some stuff about what not to do that God didn't think of already."

"I know! Isn't it brilliant? It's mostly magical theory, and some geography and history, and even some weird heretical stuff." He supposed it was mostly weird heretical stuff, as it was about magic, but he didn't care. One of the nicest things about the library was that Rowena hadn't thought to take all of her Transfiguration or mythology texts out of it, so he could still sometimes find useful things on the Animagi.

"I dunno. Reading sort of hurts my head," said Clio. He had never actually seen her embarrassed before, but she certainly was now. "I, er. I was only just learning to read when I met you," she admitted.

He blinked. Her not writing to him, her unfamiliarity with theory, it all made sense now. "Why didn't you tell me?" Godric asked. "I wouldn't have bored you with all of my stupid Transfiguration--"

"Oh, no, _you_ made it sound interesting!" said Clio. "Just, I never quite got used to the reading, is all."

"It takes a while for most people, I think," said Godric. He'd learned to read when he was twelveish, he thought, which made him pretty lucky. They had reached the door to his common room by now, and Godric said "Password." It opened.

"That's a terrible password, you know," said Clio, amused.

"I'd _forget_ it otherwise," said Godric, letting her step in first. "This is the common room that my fourth of the students share. They all sleep upstairs," he said, "and I sleep at the top. There's supposed to be a really nice view of the grounds from the roof of the tower, but, you know, I'm afraid of heights."

"Let me guess, your favorite color's red," said Clio, looking around at the room.

"Of course!" said Godric. "How did you know?"

"I'm very clever," she said, grinning. She went to sit down on the cushioned bench against the far wall, and for a moment all he could see -- and this very dimly -- was one side of her face. The fire sputtered, and Godric pointed his wand at the fireplace to revive it.

"Come sit down," she said, and he sat on the floor near the bench. He stared at the fireplace uncomfortably, not wanting to look at Clio, because suddenly he was afraid that if he looked at her, she would realize what he was -- unworthy and monstrous and boring as hell -- and she would leave him alone again.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He looked back at her, startled out of superstition. The fire was reflected in her eyes, and he could see a hint of a smile, as though she was trying not to laugh. There. He was lost. He couldn't look away. "No?" he said. "I - I mean, I suppose not."

The smile became a full-on grin. "Good," she said. She stood, looking him in the eyes, then leant forward and kissed him. For a moment Godric had no idea what to do, and then suddenly, he remembered.

And then they parted, and somehow, all his sense vanished again. "Um," he said, feeling his face go hot.

"I see you're almost as coherent as last time," Clio said smugly.

"Last time you were _leaving,_" he pointed out. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized she was pleased with him, that she tolerated him -- that she might even enjoy his company the way he enjoyed hers -- and that he ought to make the most of it.

"_This_ time I'm not going anywhere," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Hmph. Not if _I_ can help it," said Godric, giving in. He pulled her gently towards him for another kiss.

* * *

Rowena had _known,_ absolutely _known,_ that Lord Salazar had planned on giving her father the Felix Felicis. It was rare, it was magical, it was lucky, and she _knew_ by the way Hatim had fought that her father hadn't received it, and what the buggering _fuck_ kind of plan was this, anyway? A _bad_ plan. She'd lost her patience.

And somehow chaos had started to seep in slowly, behind the scenes, until it was knee-deep and only Rowena could feel it. Hatim and Alfhild had disappeared, and Aurelia Sheffield was nowhere to be found, leaving only mad Aurelius Bogdanovich keeping the peace -- which would have been fine with anybody else, but he was mad for a fight. Helga and Basil were telling him violent stories about things that'd happened before their wedding, and keeping him away from the students. Ari seemed to have found a fanboy in Leo, and was looking alternately baffled and flattered at Leo's enthusiasm. And her mother kept implying that the castle had _eaten_ her other Aurae, until Jasper pointed out that the moving floor plan spell on the castle was from a treatise Rowena had written five years ago, so really, whose fault was _that?_ At which point Rowena decided she was going to get out of the Great Hall, since all she could do was look anxiously at her father and at Lord Salazar and remain silently but obviously grumpy.

The excuse she made to herself was that she was going to find one of the missing Aurae. Of course, since she _knew_ Hatim and Alfhild were off getting married and presumably _not_ spending the night on guard duty -- unless that was what they were calling it these days -- the only one she would run into was the unequaled Aurelia Cliodna Sheffield. She was the _last_ person Rowena wanted to run into in an empty hall. But the castle _liked_ her, and so in retrospect, she probably should have known better when she found herself in front of the door to the Red Common Room. At the time, she merely thought she would get to shout at Godric for a bit, since that usually cheered her up.

But when she opened the door and went inside -- _eurgh._

And yet, something kept her from fleeing. It was the same thing that had made her finish reading _Oedipus Rex_ as a child, and slightly more recently, the thing that had kept her from fleeing the first Inferius she'd ever seen -- somehow, the horror of it made it impossible to look away.

The Dementor released her unsuspecting victim, and (for the love of all the gods!), she _giggled._ "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"What's upstairs?" Godric asked stupidly. The idiot was sitting on the floor again, and that crazy bitch was practically in his _lap._

"Your bedroom?" She cocked her head.

"Er." All the happiness went out of his voice. "I -- Clio, I can't." (Here Rowena put a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing. Salazar hadn't mentioned any potion that helped with _that._)

"You _can't?_" Sheffield asked, sounding rather skeptical.

"That came out wrong! I shouldn't. It's -- because you're -- er. I'm. Well, _look_ at me. You can't _possibly_ want -- that is. We _shouldn't!_ I mean. I would hurt you, even if I had a spell that... er. I. And also, we're working for the wrong people."

Sheffield shrugged. "I took a fireball to the arm today, Godric, I don't think you could hurt me even if you meant to."

"That is really _not_ reassuring. At all," Godric said, cringing.

"I didn't mean it like _that,_" she said. "Anyway, like I said, what Lady Vowels-for-Brains doesn't know won't hurt me. And you could always desert," she added, before kissing him again.

Before she could make any more arguments in favor of her proposition, Rowena cleared her throat, and the two of them sprang apart, each looking quite deservedly embarrassed. "Actually, she's looking for you," she said drily.

"What are you _doing_ here?" demanded Sheffield. She looked very, very angry.

"I was taking a walk," said Rowena, realizing that her own presence was also... rather questionable. "I'm really sick of interrupting you two, by the way, so --"

"What are you doing _here?_" Godric asked.

"What part of _common_ room do you not understand?" Rowena snapped, her tiredness coming back to her. "And you told me the password last week so you wouldn't forget it, remember? It's 'Password.' _Twit._ Besides, you left the door open. Anyway, it's just as well, she's probably been sent here to seduce you."

"Oh really?" said Sheffield, stepping forward. "I'm not quite that devoted. What I do on my own time is my business."

"But it's not really your own time, is it?" said Rowena.

"_Nevertheless,_ it's my job to _protect_ your stupid mother, not spread my legs for whoever she says. That's _your_ job," she said, jabbing a finger at Rowena. "And you're apparently pretty miserable at it, considering you've been unmarried for, what, six years?" She was approaching Rowena with unnerving slowness, and Rowena was reminded strongly of a hunting housecat.

Rowena stood her ground, clutching her wand for reassurance. She knew better than to raise it, though. She wanted an argument, not a fight. "I've distanced myself from her," she said. "I'm nobody's whore, not any longer, and it wasn't like I had much of a choice to start with. _You,_ on the other hand, well. She's not one to waste resources, even when they are pretty paltry."

"Oh, that's right!" said Sheffield, laughing. "Now I remember! You wouldn't do the job because you prefer your men _dead._"

Rowena tensed at that, and stepped forward slightly, her fists clenched. "You're _disgusting,_" she spat. "Then, you did crawl out of the _gutter,_ so I shouldn't be so surprised that you left your tiny little mind."

"I suppose after you killed your husband, the necromancy didn't take, and so you had to settle for the vampire." By now, the two of them were at arm's length, and so even with her poor vision, Rowena could see every detail of Aurelia Sheffield's smug expression.

"What are you -- _Clio,_ you're scaring her! Rowena, come on!" said Godric. They both ignored him.

"That's _ridiculous_\--" Rowena started.

"And when Ersikyne found out, you had him killed too, isn't that right?" Sheffield demanded. She was right in Rowena's face now -- not touching her, oh no, but Rowena could smell her horrible breath. She took a step back.

"I _didn't_ \--"

Godric was standing above them, still attempting to mediate. "Would _both_ of you --"

"Or maybe the vampire wasn't good enough either -- poor circulation and all --"

Rowena recoiled, but found herself against the wall. "I _never even_ \-- we never _did that!_"

"-- and you thought you'd brushed up on your necromancy by then. You always did seem to have daddy issues, from what I --"

"That. Is. _ENOUGH,_" shouted Rowena. She raised her wand, but Sheffield caught her wrist and bent it the wrong way. There was a sickening snap, and Rowena dropped her wand.

She looked up, and all she saw was Sheffield's fist.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** You can still contribute to _The Hogwarts Express_, a Harry Potter fanzine, at community.livejournal.com/expresszine !
> 
> Many thanks to my beta for 1.) her suggestions in the last few chapters -- she always makes helpful suggestions, but these chapters went through a couple of drafts before we were satisfied, and also for 2.) the post-concussion AIM conversation which I am told she no longer remembers, wherein she ranted at me about how Wikipedia, by listing it among the symptoms of concussions, was calling her irritable. The _nerve!_
> 
> I also owe my friend David some thanks, as he listened while I blathered at him about all the possible permutations of Rowena's injuries, and made a few suggestions of his own.

Over the years, Clio had seen a lot of bodies crumpled at her feet.  Some of them had been titled, even, especially now that she was an Aura.  
But none of them had been her _employer's sole heir._  That was new.

"Rowena!  Are you all right?"  Godric, being his wanting-to-like-everybody self, was on his knees trying to wake Ravenclaw.  He glared at Clio.  "What the _hell _did you do _that_ for?"

He sounded angry.  That was new too.  She'd never _seen_ Godric angry.  She didn't know he could _get_ angry.  "She drew her wand!" Clio heard herself say, knowing it sounded fatally stupid.  _Never let someone dangerous who wants to hurt you have the use of their hands or their head,_ Ersikyne said in her head.  _ Never.  If you can, take away their legs, too._  It should have been comforting, having used his advice on his killer, but it really wasn't.  "Is she all right?" she asked, trying to sound penitent.  At least she hadn't broken Ravenclaw's legs.

"Of course she's not _all right_," said Godric.  He _was_ angry.  Fuck.  She'd actually managed to make him _angry._  Of all people, _him._  "You punched her in the face!" he said.  "Her head _bounced!_"

"...But she's alive?" Clio asked.  There was a small possibility that she wouldn't be executed if Ravenclaw survived.  A _very_ small possibility.  And Godric would forgive her, maybe.

"I think so, she's breathing.  I mean, corpses don't breathe, right?  Don't they stop right away?" he asked. "Is it head injuries where you're not supposed to move them, or is that something else?"  He looked at her.

Clio looked back at him blankly, having no experience with corpses outside of making them.

"Right.  Why am I asking _you_ that?" he snapped.

"She _drew her wand!_" Clio shouted.  "I have been trained_ not _to let people do that.  Was I supposed to let her hex me?"

He ignored her, and with great care, picked Ravenclaw up.  She lay in his arms, looking even stringier and uglier than usual, and Clio tried -- really tried -- not to be angry with her, but she had a history of getting herself into such absurd situations that Clio's hatred was strong and long-lived.

"I think you broke her nose," said Godric.  "Either that or she's bleeding to death inside her head and it's all coming out of her nose. Oh god, what if she is?"

"I did _not_ break her nose," said Clio, trying to retain some tiny scrap of professionalism.  "I hit her in the jaw."

"So she's bleeding to death inside her head," said Godric.  "Wonderful.  _Brilliant._"  He started walking.

"I think that would look different," said Clio.  "Maybe she picks her nose."  She jogged to keep up with him.  She didn't know where they were going, but she wasn't going to be left behind.

He glared at her, and quickened his pace.

"What?" she called.  "Rich people do it too!"

Godric stopped and turned to speak to her.  "_I_ am taking her to Lord Slytherin's medicinal laboratory," he said.  "_You _should go find Lord Slytherin."  He looked down at Ravenclaw.  "Hm.  I think she _is_ bleeding from her mouth.  Maybe she bit her lip," he muttered.

"I can't be seen talking to Lord Slytherin!" Clio insisted.

"You seemed perfectly fine sleeping with me earlier," said Godric.

"That's completely different.  You're _much_ better-looking than him," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Mood unlightened, Godric sighed.  "Look, just _find_ him, you don't have to --"

"Good evening, Master Gryffindor!  Have you seen --"  It was Ari Stigandrson.  He had seemed slightly tipsy, but was sobering quickly.  "I see you have," he said darkly.  Then he looked at Clio and folded his arms, and she knew any damage control she tried was going to go badly for her.  "What.  _Happened?_"

"It was, ah," said Clio, who was not generally at a loss for words.  "She.  We."  She could certainly take Stigandrson in a fight, but never in an argument.

"She needs a Healer," said Godric.  "The nearest one is in the village -- Healer Wootton.  He mostly handles livestock but he's very good with broken bones.  He's in the house with the, er.  It's like a snake wrapped around a stick, you know the symbol.  It's on the door and it glows at night."

Stigandrson listened to all this with wide eyes, and seemed to have forgot entirely about Clio.  "I'll bring him here," he said.  "Where will she be?"

"He'll know the way to the place where we usually dump incapacitated professors," said Godric, glaring at Clio.  Stigandrson nodded once and left quickly.

"That was close," said Clio.

Godric looked around the corner, made a face, and stepped back behind it.  "Look, I think you'd better just be _quiet_ for now."

"Oh, _thanks,_" she said.  "Really?  Is that it?  I just punch _one person_ out and I go from 'Ooh, _Clio,_' to 'Just shut up, I don't want to hear it'?  _Really?_"

"I'm _serious_, Clio," Godric insisted, quietly but urgently.  He looked around the corner again.

"Look, I'm at _least_ as upset about this as you are," said Clio.  "I could _die!  Especially_ if she dies.  What are you even _looking_ at?"

"Would you shut up?" he hissed.

 "It's nice that you're so _concerned_ about my well-being," said Clio.  "Of course, that's fine with me.  _I_ can take care of myself.  As long as Lady Aeaeae doesn't find out what happened --"

Lady Aeaeae turned the corner.  Godric looked as though he would have put his face in his hands, had his hands not been full of unconscious noblewoman.

Oh.  _That._  Clio tried to apologize to Godric with just a look, but he was looking concernedly at Ravenclaw.  _Ugh._

"And just what _did_ happen?" Lady Aeaeae asked.

"I.  Well.  There was this..."  Clio was trying to come up with something to say that was both the truth and that did not make her sound bad.  Under the Unbreakable Vow she had made, she _had_ to obey Lady Aeaeae's orders, and there was a standing order not to lie to her.

"Answer me _now,_" snapped Lady Aeaeae.

"You know, I'd _like_ to stick around for this but I'm just going to _leave_," said Godric, looking down at his unconscious burden.

Lady Aeaeae rolled her eyes, turning on her heel towards him.  "And _why_ should I let you -- _Rowena!_" she gasped, finally noticing what Godric had in his arms.  "What _happened_ to her?"

"She needs medical attention," Godric pointed out.  "Clio and I were taking her to --"

"Yes, yes, go on!" said Lady Aeaeae, shooing him off.  "Hurry!"  Godric did so, and Clio started to follow him, but Lady Aeaeae put out a hand to stop her.  "No," she said.  "Tell me what happened.  The bad parts first."

Fuck.  The Unbreakable Vow was niggling at the spot just between her eyes and above her nose, making her want to sneeze.  She knew if she disobeyed it any longer, her head would _explode_ or something.  "So I sort of punched out your daughter," she blurted.

"Sort of?"

"By which I mean completely," she added, automatically.  _Bloody_ spell.  "See, because she drew her wand on me!  I had to!  It's like, like, like, that thing where you kick the Healer when he hits you in the knee!  _Instinct!_"

Lady Aeaeae didn't look impressed.  Then, she never looked impressed.  Maybe it was a good sign.  Maybe if she'd been impressed, Clio would be executed.  "Did she hit you in the knee?"

"No.  Why would she do that?" Clio asked.

"Is she going to live?" demanded Lady Aeaeae.

"I don't know," said Clio.  "What, do I look like a Healer or something?"  She really hated these little question-and-answer sessions.

Godric rushed around the corner.  "She's all right, she's going to be all right, Healer Wootton's here and he says he thinks it'll all be all right!" he said, looking intensely relieved.

"And what was _his_ part in all this?" Lady Aeaeae asked, pointing at Godric.

"Well," said Clio.  "Well, _he_ didn't do anything."  Thank God for that, or they'd both be up for punishment, and Godric would get far worse.  Clio was the only one who could keep the other Aurae in line, so at least she had that going for her.

"Is that so?" Lady Aeaeae demanded.  "Then why was he there?"

"Well, er.  We were kissing," said Clio.  She was _not_ blushing, she was _not_, it was just very _warm_ suddenly.

"If I could maybe speak," said Godric, "I think --"

"You be quiet," said Lady Aeaeae, waving him off.

"No, _you_ be quiet and let me explain!" Godric snapped.  Clio shook her head at him.  Hadn't he learned when to _shut up?_

"You're right," said Lady Aeaeae, smiling slowly.  "You ought to explain.  In fact, you can talk _all you like_.  Aurelia Sheffield?"

Clio winced.  "Yes, my lady?"

"Take him to Aurelius Bogdanovich for interrogation," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Tell him to use the knives.  I'm not wholly convinced that he _didn't_ have anything to do with my daughter's grievous wounds."

That tickle behind her nose was back.  "But he --"

"Take him!  Was that an order or not?" she demanded.  "And if he tries to escape, you will either _kill him_ or die trying."

Clio and Godric exchanged a look.  It was not a happy one.

"Yes, my lady," said Clio.  "...Can Bergfalk or al-Aziz do it?" she asked, hopefully.  They were good at not killing their captives.  She didn't know where they were, though -- hopefully not off snogging in a closet somewhere.  Not that she had any room to complain.

"_Bogdanovich_," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Do what I say.  No suggestions or improvisation."

"Yes, my lady," said Clio.  She pointed her wand at Godric.  "Come on, Godric, this way."

"And  no talking to the prisoner," said Lady Aeaeae.

"Yes, my lady," Clio sighed.  Godric looked like he was tempted to kick Lady Aeaeae down the corridor, but he went with Clio instead.

* * *

"...best the little girl ain't here -- she'll prolly be mad as hell, so--"

"Want me to sit on her?"

"Nah, that might hurt her wrist worse."

There was a strange, wordless whimpering.

"She's coming 'round, I think."

"Rowena?"

She opened her eyes, and as she sat up, the whimpering became a yowl, and then a shriek, and then "Oh _gods,_ I _hurt_," and as she caught her breath she realized where she was and that her voice and that her pain were both coming from her body.

Mostly from her head.  The back of it.  The pain, anyway.

...what?

Wait, where was she again?  She looked around dizzily.

There was Helga, looking nervous and freckly and inexplicably relieved, and Ari, apparently deeply shaken.  Jasper was fiddling with an empty vial, paying such close attention to it that she knew he didn't care about it.  And Healer Wootton was standing over her looking extremely smug.  It was then that she realized something unexpectedly bad must have happened.

"What am I doing here?" she demanded.  And she remembered the argument.  Not all of it, but enough.  She sat up.  "THAT BITCH!  Where's Godric?  I'll fucking _kill_ him!"

 "Calm down, Lady Ravenclaw," said Wootton.  "I'm gonna treat your wrist --"

"LET ME AT HER --"  She cut her rant short with a hiss of pain.

"Like I said, I'm gonna treat your wrist, so it'll heal straight."

"Where's Godric?" demanded Rowena again.

"He's, er.  With Bogdanovich," said Helga, her smile faltering.

Rowena gaped.  "What?  No!  He'll _kill_ him!"

"Then it saves you the trouble," said Ari, not looking much cheered.

"Is she going to be all right?" Jasper asked Wootton.

"I'm _right here_, you arse," snapped Rowena.

"She'll be irritable for a while," said Healer Wootton.

"I'm _sure_ he'll be all right, Rowena," said Helga.

"I'M NOT IRRITABLE," shouted Rowena.

"Well, you just got hit on the head, Rowena, I'd be irritable too if it was me," said Helga calmly.  "What _happened?_"

"How should I know?" Rowena demanded.  "I don't remember a bloody _thing_ after she accused me of necromancy."  Her head throbbed.  "Or was it necrophilia?"

"Er," said Jasper uncomfortably.

"There _is_ sort of a difference," Ari pointed out helpfully.

"Was it _both?_  Sodding _Hades_, it was _both,_" Rowena snarled.  "That BITCH.  ...I have a headache.  ...wait, where's Godric?"

"With Bogdanovich, we _told_ you," said Jasper.  "You're _certain_ she'll be alright?" he asked Wootton.

"I knew it!" Rowena said.  "They're both in on it!"

"In on what?" Ari asked Helga.

"Not a clue," said Helga.

Rowena blinked.  "I'm going to throw up," she said.  And she did.

* * *

It was raining outside, despite all the spectacle that had taken place in the Great Hall, and now that Helena was trapped in the common room, away from the noise and food and warmth, she could hear the rain tapping against the stained-glass windows.  The cold crept up on her, stealthily establishing itself on her nose until she rubbed it off with the warmth of her fingers.  She wished Uncle Basil had seen her side of things rather than shutting her up in here.

Fortunately, there were others she could count on.  "What's going on?" she asked, as Devlin stumbled into the room.

"No idea," he said.  "Professor Hufflepuff and Lord Slytherin are talking with that blond Council duelist, the one with the raven Patronus."

"But what about my mum?" she demanded.

"Couldn't get that close," he said.  "Professor Slytherin's standing guard.  He's got that _look_, you know, like everyone's in his way, even though everyone's staying far away.  But Julian's trying out espionage charms --"

"He knows those?" she asked, turning to listen to him in earnest now.

  

  1. "Nah," said Devlin, "but he's, you know..."   He rolled his eyes.
  



"No," she said, getting the impression she was being blamed for something.  "I don't know.  _What_ is he?"

"Well, _you_ asked him.  And he takes that pretty serious--"   

Julian burst in.  He was sopping wet -- his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his shoes squished when he walked.  Helena felt bad for him; _she_ should have been the one going to great lengths to get information.  "I need something of hers," he told her.

"Why?" she asked.  "What's going on?"

"And why are you half-drowned?" Devlin asked.

"Because I had a theory that was wrong," he said.  "I had to go outside to test it.  And now I need something of Lady Ravenclaw's.  I have a spell that might work."

"I'll go find something," said Helena.  "Something important to her?"

"If possible," said Julian.  "It's one of _those_ charms."

She nodded, and hurried up to the top of the tower.  Lighting her wand, she peered around the gloom of her mother's bedroom, looking for something she was fond of.  Ideally, Helena knew, it would have been her wand, but of course Mother kept that with her at all times, and got rather upset when she didn't have it.  But aside from that, Helena could think of nothing physical that her mother considered particularly important.  It wasn't as though she didn't _have_ things -- there were plenty of trinkets and books and clothes cluttering Mother's quarters.  They just weren't the sort of things she obsessed over.  She was far more passionate about ideas, and people were a distant second.  But things?  Things she already had.

So Helena rifled through the parchment on her mother's desk, looking for writing that she might feel strongly about.  There were poems in Greek with flawed rhyme schemes, mostly half-crossed-out (with self-deprecating comments in the margins), and lesson plans for the more advanced classes.  She found student records, which were useless for this situation, but she briefly considered pocketing them and trading them off to interested parties.  Then she came across the notes on the gods of Egypt.

That was _odd._  Helena knew, of course, that other families had other gods, but her mother had only ever seemed interested in the Olympian gods.  Examining the parchment more closely, she realized they were only notes taken from a much more complete manuscript.  And then she realized she knew what could be used in the spell.  She scanned the bookshelves until she found it -- a leather-bound volume in Greek, with a bloodstained binding.

Taking it, she ran back down the stairs to the common room.

"What is it?" Julian asked.

"This!"  She waved the book at him.

He took it and leafed through random pages.  "What is this, a book of necromancy?"

Helena grabbed it back.  "Don't be _stupid_," she snapped.  "It's the _Odyssey_."

"Then what's with the blood?" Devlin asked.

"She clobbered a vampire with it once," said Helena smugly.  "He was going to kill Aunt Helga."

Devlin whistled appreciatively.  "Your mum's badarse, you know that?"

"Yeah," said Helena.  Of course, _Helena_ wasn't badarse, but it was better than nothing.  "What else do we have to do for the spell?"

He pulled out a scrap of parchment and squinted at it.  "Right.  Yeah.  There's a sort of a circle thing, and you've got to stand in it with the book."

"Why me?" Helena asked.

"We need two important things of hers to triangulate," said Julian.  "So, the book and you."

"...oh," she said.  She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"How are we going to draw the circle?" Devlin asked.  "She'll bash our heads in with history books if we ink all over the floor in here, and we haven't got chalk."

"That's where you come in," said Julian brightly.  He handed Devlin the parchment.  "See that circle?" he asked.  "Transfigure it into the stone of the floor."

"Er..."

"And make certain you can undo it," he added.  "Or else, books to the head."

"This is sort of advanced," said Devlin, worriedly.  "D'you really think this'll work?"

"Not really," said Julian, "but we've tried using normal methods."

"You mean _Muggle_ methods," said Helena.

"That's what I said," said Julian.

She decided that arguing the point was useless.  "What about the spell on me?" she asked.

"You won't technically leave the room.  You'll just be helping us to hear what's going on in the sick room."

"But I'll be able to hear too, right?" she asked.

  

  1. "Why wouldn't you?"
  



"I'm just the spell object," she said, grumpily.

Devlin snorted.  "What are you talking about?  You've still got ears, haven't you?"

"Shut up, Devlin, and do the circle," said Julian.  "If you can't hear it, I'll look at the spell again," he told her.  "But let's try it first."

Grumbling, Devlin managed to transfigure the spell circle into the floor.  It wasn't very deep, but it was there, sunken into the stones with magic, and that was all that was necessary.  Clutching the book to her chest, Helena sat in the middle, unsure as to what she should do.

Julian put the tip of his wand on one of the lines in the spell circle, and, reading from the book, chanted the Latin spell, and suddenly, they heard the sound of retching.

"Eurgh," said her mother, apparently out of the air.  "Why does that keep happening?"

"You got hit in the head," said another voice -- probably the healer.  "The shock of it sometimes goes all the way down to your stomach."

"I actually don't want to know," she said shakily.  "...hey, where's Godric?"

"Why does she keep asking that?" Professor Slytherin asked, panicky.

"I guess the shock got to her ears too," said the healer, noncommittally.  In the background, Uncle Basil and Lord Slytherin said something about wards, and the door opened and shut.

"Bogdanovich has got him, Rowena," said Aunt Helga, gently.  "You keep asking and then forgetting."

"What?  But --"

"He'll kill him, we know," said Slytherin.  "My father's probably seeing to it.  He's very valuable."

"Good," she said.  "Good.  Then he'll live."

It was weird to hear them talking like this -- without worrying what she or the other students would think of them -- and stranger still not to see them.  Helena closed her eyes so that she could better resist the urge to look around for the owners of the voices.

There was a shuffling noise, as if someone was trying to come in by a crowded doorway, and then Lord Slytherin spoke.  "It's not working.  They're saying he tried to assassinate you."

"What?" her mother asked.  "Why would he do that?"

Silence.

"Find my mum.  Tell her I'll break my other wrist if they don't --"

"_Rowena,_" snapped Aunt Helga.  "They're going to kill him, this isn't the time to be overdramatic."

"You think I wouldn't do it?  I don't make idle threats."

"Well.  Er."  There was guilt in her voice.  And doubt.

"Of course I -- oh gods give me that bucket Jasper _it's right th_\--"  There was a horrible retching sound.  "...right, never mind the bucket."

"Eugh."

"I didn't even _eat_ that much.  Where is it all coming from?"

"I'll go find your mother," said Professor Slytherin quickly, sounding desperate to be gone.

"Perhaps you should give the lady her bucket first," said Lord Slytherin.  "For future use."

"Right, yes, here you go, I'm off."

Quick shuffling, door closing.

"Do you think she'll take it seriously?"

"She seems prone to panic about you," said Lord Slytherin.

A snort.  "Only because I'm the only heir she's got."  Helena never understood why her mother was so angry at Grandmother.  She had arranged an awkward marriage, apparently, but Helena supposed you had to take what you could get.  And all the other bad things Grandmother had done were the sort of things Helena could imagine her own mother doing.  They obviously cared about each other -- they couldn't get _that_ angry with each other unless they cared.

"Perhaps.  But her panic is notable, if only for its rarity."

"Right.  Yeah.  Whatever.  ...speaking of panic, where's Godric?"

Door opening, footsteps.  "What do you think you're doing?" Uncle Basil shouted.

"He's with the Aurae --"

"Wait, wait.  Did you answer that already, or am I --"

Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her out of the circle.  Her eyes flew open and she screamed in startlement, both at the motion and at the bright light she suddenly faced.  The sounds of the sickroom faded, and as Helena's eyes adjusted to the light, she realized Uncle Basil had broken the spell.  Devlin and Julian seemed to have been caught by surprise as well.

"We were just, er," started Devlin.

"Nothing else worked!" said Julian, angrily.  "And we were worried --"

"He made me do it!" Devlin added.

"Shut up, both of you," snapped Helena.  "It was my fault."

Uncle Basil rolled his eyes.  "I had worked that out for myself, actually.  Unfortunately, you still shouldn't have done it."

"Why not?" Julian asked, not letting her take the blame.  What was _wrong_ with him, anyway?

"Because you were told not to," said Uncle Basil.  He looked like he had a headache, which made Helena feel a bit guilty, which was _completely unfair_ of him to do to her.

"So what?" Julian demanded.  Helena and Devlin exchanged a look -- when Julian was Righteously Angry, it never worked out well.__

"Julian, shut up," said Devlin, quietly.

"No, really, so what?" Julian asked.  She was _trying_ not to wince but he was just making things _worse_ for her.

"Well, since it's Helena's fault, maybe she can enlighten us.  So what, Helena?"

Helena fidgeted.  It was one thing to be put on the spot to try and explain why the wrong thing you did was right, but when you had to explain why the wrong thing you did was _wrong_ it was even worse.  Saying you couldn't see how it was wrong made you look stupid, and saying why it was wrong made you look evil.  It was even worse when it was Uncle Basil, because usually he was the one who let her go into all the neat shops with the cursed objects and dead things, and told scary stories about hunting vampires, and bought her sweets she wasn't supposed to have.  She took a deep breath.  "Well, I mean, I suppose we shouldn't have been messing about with magic that we don't know, but _really_, she's my _mum_, I don't see why --"

"Wrong," said Uncle Basil.

"What do you mean, wrong?  _She's my mum._"

"Helena, do you know where Professor Gryffindor is right now?"

"He's with the Aurae, Mum keeps asking," said Helena, grumpily.  She didn't care about stupid old Professor Gryffindor.  It wasn't like anybody could hurt him, anyway.

He sighed.  "Yes.  Exactly.  It's... the way they ask questions is very violent."  He looked worried, then -- _frightened_, even.  Maybe they _could_ hurt Professor Gryffindor.

"But I thought the Aurae were good," said Julian.  "I mean, they catch Dark wizards and criminals, yeah?"

Devlin chewed on his lip.  "They're official.  Doesn't mean they're _good._  If your dad said I was a thief and hid gold on me --"

"Oh," said Julian.  He had a very ashamed way of being wrong.  "Yeah.  Yeah, that sort of... er.  So how are they getting him out?  He's not dead yet, is he?"

"They won't kill him intentionally," said Basil.  "He's more useful alive.  But the only reason I can have _this_ conversation with you, _now,_ is because I've just checked for eavesdroppers.  There's a similar spell on the hospital wing."

"Then how come _we_ could--" Julian started.

"It only tells Lord Slytherin where the listener is, rather than shutting them off entirely," said Uncle Basil.  "That's how I was able to find you three so quickly.  The problem is, anybody who _did_ want your Transfiguration professor dead or -- or something -- might've been able to listen to us through _your_ spell."

"Well, nobody ever told me _that_," Helena snapped.

"You should have considered the consequences on your own," said Uncle Basil wearily.  He was _definitely_ off of Helena's Fun Adults List.  "Next time, if you want to break the rules, break them _right._"

"...But nothing bad _did_ happen, right?" said Julian, sounding much more conciliatory than he ought to have.  Especially since it was _Helena's_ argument.

"Not yet," said Basil.  "But I have some more damage control to do.  Please don't make me waste any more time keeping you out of trouble."  He turned and left before Helena could think of anything appropriately withering to say.

"Well," she said once he was gone.  "Well, _fine._"

"Sorry," said Julian, apologetically.

"Hey, look on the bright side," said Devlin.  "Your mum's alive."

"Yeah.  Brilliant," said Helena, who was still angry.  She sighed.  "We'd better un-Transfigure the floor now, before somebody _else_ comes in and tells us off.  Devlin, you take the near side, and I'll take the far side."

"Er.  Helena?" started Julian, somewhat awkwardly.

"And _you_ had better do a drying charm or something," said Helena.  "And _don't_ make my arguments for me."  She busied herself with de-Transfiguration, which -- since Devlin had done his job well in the first place -- was easy and actually sort of soothing.

Julian wasn't letting it go, though.  Whatever it was.  "Helena, I didn't mean --"

"Didn't mean _what?_" she demanded.

"...You know what?  It's nothing," he sighed.  "I'll go find some dry clothes," he said, trudging up the stairs.

"Drying charms!" she called after him.  He would catch his _death_ someday if he kept ignoring minor magic in favor of big impressive espionage spells.  But then, that was Julian for you.


	17. Chapter 17

Godric had had rather a rough night, mostly spent in a long and painful session of interrogation in one of Lord Slytherin's suspiciously dungeon-like storage facilities.  He'd decided to cooperate, because while he probably could have killed one or two of the Aurae Aurelii before someone had hexed him, he didn't want to hurt _Clio._  And even if it _had_ been Bogdanovich, he had to admit to himself that he was had been too frightened.

Bogdanovich had done the actual interrogating, of course.  Godric had screamed, of course, but for a while he'd managed to keep himself from confessing to any number of things -- _horrible_ things, anything, really -- by reminding himself that both lying and suicide were sins.  It wasn't working very well, though, so he'd eventually given up on the whole religious angle and bitten his tongue instead.

He'd been rescued, bizarrely, by Lady Aeaeae bursting in and calling it all off, although he had no idea why.  The last thing he remembered was Healer Wootton asking if he'd like to be knocked out while they healed the burns.  Apparently he'd said yes.

When he came to, he found he was on the floor of the room Lord Slytherin kept his healing potions in.  Dizzily, Godric sat up, and saw Rowena lying on a cot, holding a book gingerly.  She wasn't actually _reading, _merely glaring at Lord Slytherin, who was whistling a jaunty tune as he reorganized the contents of one of the far cupboards.  Godric suspected she was making a concerted effort not to take the book and bash him over the head with it, which meant she was probably behaving as normal as she ever did, and was therefore going to be all right.

She sighed, shutting the book, and shot a withering look at Godric, as though there was nothing more intensely disgusting to her than his continued existence.

Godric smiled weakly.  "Hi."

"_Hi,_" she snarled.  "Is _that_ all you have to say?"

Well, _fine._  He'd been through quite enough lately; the burns had healed but the broken fingers still twinged.  "Look, it's not _my_ fault you can't keep your temper," he said, glaring.

"It's not _my_ fault your stupid whore can't keep hers," Rowena said.  "And it's not my fault you were _stupid_ enough to fall for that trick, either."

"Look, I know it's a novel concept to _you_, but there are _actually _people I've met who don't hate me, because _I_ don't make a concerted effort to be as unpleasant as humanly possible," said Godric, seething.

"Don't make me _laugh_, Godric, you can't be _that_ naïve," she said, smirking venomously.  "Name one person you regularly associate with who doesn't see you as a convenient means to an end."

Godric opened his mouth to say something, but he found he didn't actually have anything to say, so it turned out to have been a bad move.  He didn't like the way this conversation was going, anyway, so he changed the subject instead.  "What were you doing spying on me?"

She looked horrified.  "I was _not_ spying on you.  Why would I want to spy on _you?_"

"Why would _Clio_ want to spy on me?"

"Why would 'Clio' want to fuck you?" she asked, and Godric inwardly wished he could just fold into himself and disappear out of shame.  She was probably right about Clio, he thought, but he wasn't going to give Rowena that sort of satisfaction.  "I was only _looking_ for somebody," said Rowena.

"Who were you looking for in _my common room?_"

She glared.  "I don't know, I was just wandering and I ended up there, and I was going to see if you were in --"

"What, so you could shout at me, I suppose?"

It was her turn to look ashamed.  "Look, just because I'm an angry bitch doesn't mean I --"

"You were, weren't you?" he demanded.  "Something happened and you were going to say -- " (and here he waved his hands in a falsetto imitation of Rowena) " -- '_Godric_, you're useless and stupid, and I'm going to sit here insulting you because something totally unrelated has happened and I won't admit it but it's actually _all my fault!_'"

"I do _not_ sound like that!"

"'Oh_ woe_, I have all the money in the _world_ and I have nothing better to do but sit around and whine about how nobody likes meeee!'"

"STOP THAT!"

"'And I know lots of curses, because _that'll_ make up for everybody hating me!'"

"Shut up.  Just.  Just _shut up,_" she snarled, fumbling around with her left hand for her wand.  She knocked it off the bedside table accidentally and it rolled under the cot, and then, quite unexpectedly, she burst into tears.

Making people cry was actually _worse_ on the Scale of Shame than being a monstrosity with a working libido.  Godric sat momentarily frozen in horror, wishing her face would uncrumple.

"I try to make sure everyone's having fun and then," she gasped thickly through tears and snot, "and then they're going to kill people and I _try_ to keep everyone alive and I try to do _everything at once_ and I can't do ANYTHING --"

"I didn't mean to --"

"-- and NOBODY SODDING CARES, DO THEY?" she shouted.  "NOBODY.  Nobody -- my daughter thinks I'm mad and my best friend thinks I'm a traitor and my _father --_"

"I don't think you're --"

"-- and that bitch wants me dead which isn't so bad, considering, but then _you're_ just an arse, despite all your pretending to be stupid and pretending to be _nice --_"

"I don't _pretend_ to be stupid," Godric said.  "I just _am._"

"-- and GODS DAMN YOU, STOP WHISTLING!" she shouted at Lord Slytherin, getting shakily to her feet.

"I was wondering when you'd be getting around to me," said Lord Slytherin, apparently unperturbed by her tantrum.  "Do you have anything else to say?"

"You're a liar and... and a_ fraud!_" she said, still sniffly.

"Repetitive, but it'll do.  I don't know what I've done lately that merits the insult, though."  He walked over slowly as if to get a better view of her nervous breakdown.

"You _promised_ me you'd help him," she said, "you _promised_ me, and you promised him too, and you _didn't._"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I did," he said.  "He got the potion."

"No he _didn't_.  Hatim did.  It was obvious."

Salazar frowned.  "Which potion did al-Aziz get?" he asked Godric.

"The luck one," said Godric.  "It was in Latin.  It meant luck twice.  Lucky luck."

"Felix Felicis," snapped Rowena, glaring.

"Oh, _that_," said Lord Slytherin.  "No, no.  I wouldn't give him that.  Makes you overconfident, and knowing your father, that'd make him... well, about level with the rest of  the world, actually, he's always been completely paranoid -- I wonder if you get it from him, actually -- but luck's no good against this sort of thing.  I gave your father the Wit-Sharpening Potion at the feast, and some of the extra Draught of Peace after you got knocked out last night.  And he's also got a Transport Key that can take him to Etxazarra-controlled territory, where she can't get at him.  This way he won't panic and he'll know when to use it."

Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes went wide.  "Oh," she said.  "Oh, good."  Then she rushed forward and hugged Lord Slytherin, beginning to cry again.

Godric was just as confused as Lord Slytherin looked.  "Er," he said awkwardly.  "Do I get a hug too?"

"No.  I hate you.  Go die," she said, sniffling.

Lord Slytherin tried to push her away as gently as possible.  "Considering the measures you took to keep him alive, that would be a terrible waste."

"I was just angry," she said, sounding very small and fragile.  "My wrist hurts."

"Healer Wootton said you were supposed to rest," said Lord Slytherin.  Godric couldn't tell if he cared, or if he was just saying it to be irritating.

"What does he know about rest?  Most of his patients are cows and dogs," she said.  Turning to Godric, she added “Yes, _except_ me,” and he squirmed, because he'd been thinking it.

"Well, if you'd _rather_ I knocked you out," said Lord Slytherin, "I have this Draught of Living Death --"

"_Fine,_" she muttered, sitting on the cot.

"...what did you do to get me out?" Godric asked, now feeling even more guilty.

"Nothing important," she said, making a point of opening her book again.

"From what Mistress Hufflepuff and young Stigandrson were saying, she was going to break her other wrist.  I believe there was also a rescue attempt, which ended somewhere around the doorway when the force of gravity overwhelmed her."

"I was _maddened_ by the _injury,_" said Rowena, "obviously.  It was just a symptom."

"Oh.  Well.  Thanks.  For, er..."

"Being _insane?_"  She glared.

"Not letting me die," he said.  "I appreciate not being dead.  Mostly.  I mean, it hurts more but it's probably worth it."

"Well, good."  There was an awkward silence.  Godric recalled, vaguely, that the point of the feast had been to secure an invitation to steal somebody's thought-storage research.  He was, by this point, absolutely certain that he'd rather just do his own research, because this was just too much damn work and every time something went right it all went crashingly wrong, but he didn't want Lord Slytherin to hear about his mind-control experiments, because he didn't want to sound _creepy_ or anything.  "So, er.  How were... people?"

Her brow furrowed.  "_People?_"

"I dunno," he said, shrugging.

"I should think they were people," said Lord Slytherin, who was refilling a jar with something slimy.  "They generally are."

"Well, one of them broke my wrist, apparently, although I don't remember it at all," she said.

"I didn't mean _her,_" said Godric, "would you _stop_ harping on that?"

She rolled her eyes, and looked about to say something angry, but she seemed to suddenly remember something delightful.  "Leo was here!" she said.

"That's Mistress Hufflepuff's brother, right?" Lord Slytherin asked.

"Yeah, and he's horrible," said Godric, grumpily.  "And I don't see _why_ I have to put up with whining about Clio if _she's_ going to go all --"

"I do not go all _anything_ about Leo," said Rowena.  "He is _dead_ to me."

"He looked quite lively last night.  Seemed in quite a hurry to leave until he saw his favorite duelist," said Lord Slytherin.

“Well.  He’s dead to me unless he is _hilarious_ to me.”  She smirked.

"Wait, wait, I thought you were all goopy about him," said Godric.

"Yeah, when I was _twelve,_" she said.

"Try fifteen," he said.

"Try piss off," she said pleasantly.  "I got over it.  He's an arse."

"I _told_ you!" he said.  "Did you torment him?" Godric asked, leaning forward eagerly.  "Tell me you did!"

"I may have proposed to him," she said smugly.  "He fled in terror."

"Can you blame him for being scared?  I'd have reacted the same way," he said.

"Yes, well, we've already established that you have very poor taste in women," said Rowena, not seeming in the least offended.  "Also you're a coward."

"Well, _anyway_," said Godric, not wishing to have to defend Clio any more, "I wasn't talking about Leo."

"Well, who were you talking about, then?" she asked.

"You know.  _People._"

"Oh yes, of _course_ I know, because I can read... minds."  Her face dropped as, presumably, she realized what he was talking about, but the sentence rolled on like a cart of bricks.

"Well, I thought it ought to be obvious," he said.

"Well, it _wasn't_," she snapped.  Godric was beginning to get a headache.

"I think I'll leave you two to discuss people," said Lord Slytherin.  "While it sounds _fascinating, _I have to go see about the missing Aurae."  And, infuriatingly, he left.

Godric looked at Rowena.  "Do you think he knows?"

"Of _course_ he knows," she said, glaring.  "He always knows _everything._  It's horrible."  Rowena generally gestured a lot when she talked, and he wondered how much of her anger was at him and how much of it was at the terrible pain she must be in every time she tried to speak normally.  "That was fucking stupid of you."

"Well, I'm _sorry_, I just thought maybe you would be able to work it out on your own, since you claim to be so much cleverer than me," said Godric.

"Maybe you hadn't noticed, Godric, but I was _a little distracted_, what with the psychotic Aura and the plot to kill my father!"

"...the _what?_"  Godric stared.

"Do I have to repeat --"

"Yes," he said.  "You do.  _What_ plot to kill your father?"

She sighed.  "There's a plot to kill my father."

"Well, that can be solved easily," said Godric.  "Whoever's doing it, I can scare him off."

"That would be my mother," she said, "and we know how that's worked out lately."

"Wait, so if your mother's trying to kill him... then why isn't he _dead_ yet?"

"It's more complicated than that," she said.  "Mum came to power in sort of an iffy, deathy way.  I mean.  Very Classical.  It should be a play.  My grandfather’s throat was slit, which isn’t all that suspect considering everybody hated him, but then Lord Slytherin -- _Balthazar_ Slytherin, who was _our_ Lord Slytherin's father -- died, and he was the Chief before her."

Godric frowned.  "But if _he_ was the Chief, he probably had a lot of enemies too.  Couldn't somebody else have --"

"Well, _apparently_ Lord Salazar and my mum had been betrothed, but he ran off with this servant girl or _something_ and so he was off being -- this is how Mum tells it, so there's a sad lack of scandalous details -- he was off being irresponsible.  So the Council voted her in because the late lamented Chief of the Council, in his _sudden illness,_ had asked her to keep his faithless, useless son from taking power."  This last bit was accompanied by much eye-rolling on Rowena's part.

"Oh.  Well.  That _does_ make her look pretty bad," said Godric.  "Especially if she's all _vague_ about things."

"_Exactly,_" said Rowena, attempting to gesture enthusiastically with her wounded hand.  She winced, and put her hand back down almost immediately.  "It's _got_ to be lies.  Anyway, since then she's tended to have people who she's sick of arrested for something like treason, and since nobody can imagine my dad plotting against her, that wouldn't go over very well."

"But she's the _Chief._  She can do anything she wants," said Godric.

"Not if the rest of the Council decide she's mad," Rowena said.  "I don't know, I don't really like the way the Council's set up, because it's this dreadfully unstable remnant of the Roman Republic, and we all know how _that_ turned out -- and then it was dragged kicking and screaming through the Empire -- but at _least_ it means she can't do anything without a semi-plausible reason behind it."

"...how did the Roman Republic turn out?" Godric asked.  He wasn't fond of history -- the moment you turned your back on it, there was _more_ of it -- but Rowena talked about history as though it was a brilliantly funny story she'd heard.

"Stabby death!" said Rowena cheerfully.  "They _all_ do.  If you start letting people think they're in charge and then they find out they're not, it all ends in knives."

"It does?" Godric asked.  He was glad he knew he wasn't in charge, then.  Not that he was _normal._

"Generally.  Well, or poison," she said, warming to her topic.  "I mean, if you're too clever for them, then all of a sudden they're all 'Here, drink this!' and you say 'What is it?' and they say 'Hemlock!  Yummy!' and you say 'Why do I have to --' and they say 'YOU ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS,' and then you die.  This is why I tell people what to do -- it's my _duty _to keep everything from ending in knives and hemlock.  It's _noblesse oblige._"

"But doesn't it end in knives and hemlock when your mum's in charge?" he asked.

"You _see?_" she asked.  "They should have just stuck with Lord Salazar -- _he_ didn't off his father."

"But he ran off with a servant girl," said Godric, who was trying hard to keep track of what she was saying.

Rowena frowned.  "..._maybe_ the servant girl was a plant," she said.

"Then wouldn't Jasper be all green and leafy?"

She sighed.  "Not _that_ kind of plant."

"Well, how should _I_ know what hemlock looks like?" Godric asked.

"Look, I don't think we're going to get very far in this conversation because you honestly have no idea what you're talking about," said Rowena, "so let's discuss the unwitting invitation Helga and I got from Ari Stigandirson to go steal things from them instead."

"Really?  Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Godric asked.

"Stabby death's more interesting," said Rowena.  "But yeah, after I threw up --"

"Are you ill?  Did you take hemlock?"

"I got sick from the knock on the head.  Healer Wootton says  since your head's on top of your body it's got to stay properly aligned or you can't balance right, so you throw up until you can.  After I threw up he offered it --"

"Hemlock?" Godric asked.

"An _invitation_," said Rowena.  "Do try to keep up.  But anyway, I think after he went rushing to get Healer Wootton for me, Helga sort of forgave him for being an arse, which he really is," she said.  "But he's not a _bad_ person."

"So do I get to go along?" Godric asked.

"Oh, he very _specifically_ invited you as well," said Rowena, seeming quite amused by this (though Godric could not see why) "but you were at the tender mercies of Bogdanovich and I said I couldn't properly answer for you.  And I was throwing up."

"Right," said Godric.  "Um.  How are we going to get to the --"

"Well, that's all settled," said Lord Slytherin, walking in cheerfully.  "Did you know al-Aziz and Bergfalk were going to elope?"

Rowena snorted.  "Did anyone _not_ know?  Except for that bitch --"

"Would you quit calling her by undeserved epithet?" snapped Godric.

"-- the _esteemed_ Aurelia Sheffield, whose Patronus is, unrelatedly, a large hairy dog," said Rowena.  "She doesn't pay nearly enough attention to her staff if she couldn't see that coming."

"At any rate, they apparently wanted to see you but they're getting a thorough shouting-at by the esteemed Aurelia Sheffield, whose Patronus et cetera and all that," said Lord Slytherin, "so if they survive they may be by later.  But right now we have more important things to discuss.  Have you two discussed the, ah, delicate situation with --"

"My father?  Yes," said Rowena.

"Good," said Lord Slytherin.  "Then you know there are --"

"Wait, wait," said Godric.  "What does this have to do with _me?_" he asked.

"Good point," said Rowena.  "I refuse to stake anybody's life on Godric, much less my father's."

"Well, you seemed to think he handled the Muggle army well enough," said Lord Slytherin.

"She did?" Godric asked.

"I _did?_" Rowena demanded.

"Look, I wouldn't stake my _own_ life on me," said Godric, "so this strikes me as a terrible idea.  Whatever it is.  Sorry.  I mean, I volunteered to be scary for it but Rowena's mum isn't frightened by me.  Oh, and also!  I just got tortured by her guards all night," he added.  "It wasn't much fun."

"I was just thinking," said Lord Slytherin, apparently ignoring them, "that we could discuss the situation and our options."

"It would be nice to know _exactly_ why she's planning to kill him," said Rowena, sarcastically.  "Because I have this feeling that it might help."

Lord Slytherin rubbed his eyes.  "I think, and your father agrees, that she intends to marry Fudge."

Rowena wrinkled her nose.  "That _is_ her sort of thinking.  Why is it _always_ murder and weddings with her?"

"They must make her sentimental," said Lord Slytherin.  "And I suppose everybody needs a hobby."

"Well, it'd definitely explain Fudge's -- er."  Godric wasn't sure Lord Slytherin was supposed to know about that.

"Fudge's what?" Lord Slytherin asked.

"His behavior when we went to extort him," said Rowena cheerfully.

"Oh, is that all?" Lord Slytherin asked.  "What did you tell him?"

"Just that ‘the deal is off,’" said Rowena.  "We didn’t know what deal, but I knew it had to be something awful.  He looked very relieved."

Lord Slytherin laughed.  "I would imagine so."

"...did she try the same thing with you?" Godric asked, curiously.

"_Godric!_"  Rowena sounded horrified.  "Gods, you're ruder than Helena and I put together."

"...no," said Lord Slytherin, looking amused.  "Our parents arranged _that_ mess.  It might've worked out, if...  if we'd been two completely different people, I suppose.  At any rate, she obviously intends Fudge to be the newest addition to the Wizards' Council after the Glendowers are kicked off, since she apparently can't control the_ real_ transfigurator.  That is why you come in, Master Gryffindor.  If we can discredit Fudge, and make you an appealing Council member, they will vote you on instead."

"...me," said Godric.  He was fairly certain they were just joking with him.  He didn't know what he was going to say if they weren't.

There was an awful silence.  Lord Slytherin looked calmly expectant.  Rowena was cringing.  Godric kept looking between the two of them in the hopes that perhaps one of them would change.

Finally, Lord Slytherin said, "Or we could just kill him.  Then he _really_ couldn’t be on the Council."

"_What?_" Rowena demanded.  "You can't just go and kill him!  That's ...that's.  _Wrong._"

"Well, you're the ones who extorted him," said Lord Slytherin.

"That's _different._  The money belongs to our Runt," she said.  "...I mean, er.  Godric."

"Listen, you can't put me on the Council," said Godric.  "That is a, a, a ridiculous, scary idea.  Because, er.  Because the Council.  The _Wizards'_ Council?  It's -- it's the thing that rules the whole...."  He trailed off, gesturing roundly.  "The, the, the thing of Europe."

"Continent," said Rowena.

"It does!" said Godric.  "Yes.  And, er, some of the Holy Land and I don't know, lots of ...stuff.  That, you know, has people living there.  I don't do... ruling people.  I just sort of sit around and do things that aren't ruling people.  Like with, with books and things.  Sometimes things blow up, which I think makes me unfit for government."

"Not necessarily true!" said Lord Slytherin pleasantly.  "Explosions are a sign of creativity.  Or improper storage of saltpeter."

"But look, you're not listening," said Godric, who didn't care about saltpeter.  "I mean, I think she -- Lady Aeaeae -- she suggested that I do that -- you know, for _her_ \-- because she's _evil_, you know?  _You're_ not evil.  So I can't!  Besides, I'm not a person like _that,_ you know, with _importance.  _Or _anything._"  He took a deep breath, and tried to force all of his thoughts into an actual sentence with all the words in the right order.  "I _can't_ be on the Council!"  There.  That would have to be good enough.

"Well, it's not as though you have to own land," said Lord Slytherin, "although I think that's mostly because nobody ever imagined they'd _have_ to worry about a commoner getting onto the Council until the Etxazarras and the Solomons showed up.  And your inexperience makes you a good candidate, because you'll appear naïve and easy to push around."

"...that makes no sense," said Godric.  "None of this makes any sense.  You do realize?  None of it."

"Quit babbling, Godric," Rowena snapped, "I want to see where he's going with this."

"The sooner you're on the council, the sooner Ophelia realizes Fudge is useless to her, and that her husband’s death would be wasteful," said Lord Slytherin.

"And the sooner you have one more person who'll vote for you when you make your bid for Council Chief," said Rowena, now glowering.

"That is an incidental benefit, yes," said Lord Slytherin.

"But I'm big and scary and _common._  And Muggleborn besides," said Godric.

"Then you'll just have to work twice as hard to impress them without being threatening," said Lord Slytherin.  "Or, as I said, we could just kill Fudge.  After all, we can't let Gualterus Avitus suffer for _your_ shortcomings.  Tallcomings.  Whatever you like.  It's up to you!"  There was a knock at the door, and Lord Slytherin smiled, as though they hadn't been talking about mad things.  "We'll discuss this some other time -- you appear to have visitors."

Helena threw open the door, and hugged Rowena, who put her arms gingerly around her daughter.  "Are you all right?  Nobody will tell me _anything_."

Rowena sighed.  "Later, Helena."

"They said Professor Gryffindor tried to kill --"

"He _didn't_," said Rowena.  And Clio, who stood in the doorway, uncertain.  Rowena looked at her, a startled expression on her face.

Godric cleared his throat.  "Er.  Hi."

Clio took a deep breath.  "I am _so so sorry_ you had to go through --"

"Oh, it was no problem," said Godric, trying not to wince.

"...really?" said Clio, all disbelief.

_No_, he thought.  _Not really.  _"Oh no, it was fine," he said.  "I mean.  Things happen.  You know how it is."  He laughed nervously.  He couldn't quite look her in the eye.

"I thought I did," she said, sounding uncertain.  "Well, you're all right, that's all that matters --"

"No, it's not."  Helena glowered in all her thirteen-year-old conviction.  She stood by her mother's bed, standing straight and very still, in the way that small people do when they want to conceal their trembling and look strong.

"_Helena!_" Rowena snapped.

"Did you do this?" Helena demanded of Clio.  "Did you break my mother's wrist?"

Rowena winced.  "Who said anything about --"

"I heard things," said Helena.  "When people are keeping something from me I know enough to ask around."

"Helena," said Rowena warningly, "I think you should --"

"Are you _afraid_ of her?" Helena demanded.  "What can she possibly do to _you?_  Or _me?_  Grandmother can make her stop breathing at a word.  And maybe she should."

"Your daughter is as paranoid as you are mad," said Clio.  "How charming."

"_You_ ought to be _ashamed_ of yourself," said Helena.  "My mother is the sole heir to the Chief of the Council, and if you --"

"Helena, that's _enough_," snapped Rowena, getting unsteadily to her feet.

"What?  I'm sick of --"

  

  1. "It would, therefore, be ridiculous to suggest that she has."
  



Helena glared.  "So you just _happened_ to break your wrist --"

"There was an accident.  A misunderstanding.  If you’re so very interested in the workings of the human wrist, Helena, I shall give you something to do.  Five diagrams of wrist movements for higher-grade transportation spells, explaining _all _points of inflection thoroughly, due tomorrow," said Rowena.

Helena glared.  "This is _absurd!_"

"Ten diagrams.  I'm making it fifty if you say one more word."

Her shoulders shook with anger, but she walked out silently.

"She's thirteen," said Rowena, by way of explanation.

"When I was thirteen, I had already been freelancing in London for a year," said Clio.

"Your precocious viciousness isn't something to be proud of," said Rowena.  "Leave me alone.  While you're at it, leave Godric alone, too.  We've both suffered enough."

Disgusted, Clio turned to Lord Slytherin.  "Is she this insolent to you?" she demanded.

He shrugged elaborately.  "I consider it one of her unique charms.  I prefer critics to flunkies, don't you?"

"_I_ prefer --" she started, but then she glanced at Godric's wounds and swallowed her words.  "Lady Aeaeae's party is leaving," she said instead.  "Will you be seeing them off?"

"I suppose it would be the polite thing to do," said Lord Slytherin.  "Shall I make your apologies, Lady Ravenclaw?"

Rowena winced.  "Just... make something up that verges on polite?"

He laughed.  "I will do my best to be convincing."  He followed Clio out of the room.

"And not pompous!" Rowena called after him.  "He's got this habit of being pompous," she told Godric.  "I'm not pompous."  She looked at Godric, as if for confirmation.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm not pompous," she repeated.

He just rolled his eyes.  "Of course you're not," he said, not bothering to sound like he meant it.  "How am I going to get out of this Council thing?"

"You're _not_," she snapped.  "If he thinks it's the only way --"

"He _can't_ think it's the only way," he said.  "Why doesn't he just --"

"Just _what?_"

"I don't know, benevolently kidnap your father!  Or something.  That's what I'd do," said Godric.

She began to laugh.

"What?" he asked.

"You would _not_ kidnap anyone, Godric," she said, still trying not to laugh.  "I mean, what would you do?  'Oh, sorry about this, I know it's inconvenient, but I just, you know, I'm kidnapping you.  You might've noticed.  But don't worry!  I won't hurt you!  It's _benevolent!_  Oh and try not to undo my knots by accident, I know they're not very good but I do my best.  Maybe you could do them better if you want?'"

Godric charitably chose to ignore her terrible approximation of his accent, which wandered drunkenly between Salisbury and Edinburgh. "Well, I meant _if_ I were Lord Slytherin --"

"Which is why you _aren't_ Lord Slytherin," she said.

"Exactly," he said.  "I'm _me._  How'm I supposed to get onto the Council?"  Hopefully Rowena would come up with _something_ else.  He was no good at politics.

"You do have the advantage over Fudge," she said.

He stared at her.  She didn't _look_ mad, but obviously she was.  "_How?_"

"Well, there's the part where _you can actually transfigure things_," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, but --"

"Anyway," she said, "Lord Slytherin will have some way of --"

"But you don't even like him!" he said.  This was not going well at _all._  If he couldn't convince _Rowena_ that he was incompetent, he couldn't convince _anyone_.  Probably she knew he was incompetent, and just wanted to see his life ruined.

"He's better than nothing," she said glumly.  "That's what I thought when we put the school here and, well.  He _wants_ to save my father."  She glared.  "Which is _certainly_ better than everyone else.  You just don't care, and Mum's outright hostile."

"And now you're comparing me to your mother," said Godric, rubbing his eyes.  "This has been a _completely_ awful night."

"We both survived," she said flatly.  "It could have been worse."  With that, she took her book, lay back on her cot, and read, apparently intending to ignore him for the rest of the morning.

"You're not helping," Godric muttered.  He was _not_ going to be on the Council.  There _had_ to be a way out of it.

* * *

Helena sat sulking in the library, looking at spells.  "She _sent me away!_"

"It was probably for your own good," said Julian.

"But she _sent me away_," she repeated.  She had _tried_ to help.  Every time she tried to help it all went wrong.  Either it was her fault -- which it wasn't -- or it was Mum's fault.

"Look, here's an easy one," said Julian, "_Cestrosphendonus_."  He pushed a book at her.

"Yeah, I want to throw rocks right about now," she said, grumpily.  Her mother was so _stubborn._  She wouldn't let anybody do anything for her.  Helena wondered how she had managed to be raised by a woman like that and still be sensible.  "Like a _child!_  She _sent me away!_"

"We _heard,_" said Devlin.  "Why are we helping her?"

"Be_cause,_" said Julian.

"I _hate_ it when she gets all mopey and overdramatic," said Devlin.

"I spent all night listening at keyholes for _her_, and she _sent me away,_" said Helena, ignoring them.  This was not entirely true, of course, but she _felt_ like it was true.

"Well, maybe she likes her rest," said Devlin.  "I mean, you are sort of loud."

"That's not _my_ problem."  She glowered.  It wasn't as if they were being very helpful either.

"Can we focus here?" said Julian.  "You've only got one done.  Let's at least try _Cestrophendonus_."

"Not really even one," said Devlin, examining her diagram for _Mobilinovacula_.  "I mean, unless 'TO STAB FACES' is a good reason for a spell gesture inflecty thingy."

"Don't look at my things, Devlin," she said, grabbing the parchment back.  Useless nosy peasant.

"Also, contrary to popular belief, faces don't make very good stabbing targets," Devlin said.  "I mean, legs, maybe, or --"

Alioth Nigellus interrupted them as he walked into the library.  "Stomachs," he said.  "Stomachs are good.  And throats."  He stood behind Devlin and Julian, looking at Helena's embarrassingly incomplete list.  "Not much osseal protection there."  He looked very gloomy, she thought.  He had a lot of nerve looking gloomy while _her_ mum was _bedridden._

"What do _you_ want?" asked Julian, turning around in his seat to glare at him.

"Nothing," said Nigellus, shrugging.  "Just trying to help."

"Well, don't.  None of us likes you and you're useless," said Helena.

"More useless than these two?" Nigellus asked.

He had a point.  Still.  "Well, I don't really care about osseal protection.  I'm not going to actually stab people.  I mean.  It isn't likely to help."

"Oh," said Nigellus, sounding disappointed.  "Well.  I didn't mean to offend," he said awkwardly.  He shrugged and left them, possibly to brood on his own time.  Helena thought he needed practice at it anyway.

"Maybe he didn't, but he's so _good_ at it," Julian said, once he was out of earshot.

She giggled.  Julian's expression was so full of _loathing_.  "You shouldn't be so hard on him.  He's just trying to play to his strengths."

For some reason, Julian brightened.  "Maybe, but today's not the Feast of Let's Be Nice to Nigellus.  Maybe tomorrow.  Anyway, I think this book's got some promise…"

"If you two are all face-stabbed out, I'm going to go do research for that Transfiguration thing," said Devlin.

"What, you didn't do that already?" Julian asked.  "I thought everybody was doing the alchemical dilemma."

"Yeah, but that's too easy," said Devlin.  "I was thinking Animagi."

"Are you mad?" Helena asked.  "Mum says none of the books agree on those, and she would know.  She's read _everything._"

Devlin shrugged.  "Maybe I'll make stuff up.  Anyway, there's got to be_ something _I can find that two people agree on.  Even if it's wrong in the end."

* * *

Rowena had suggested to Godric that they walk to the village to thank Healer Wootton for his help, which had mostly been an excuse to get out of the castle and away from Lord Salazar to talk privately.  She had to admit, though, the smell of rain was a nice change from the rotting organic smell of Lord Salazar's healing room.

"Do you think it's going to start raining again?" Godric asked, looking up at the overcast sky.

"Probably," said Rowena.  "Just don't say things like 'it couldn't get any worse.'"

"Don't worry.  It can _always_ get worse," Godric said with false cheer.  He sighed, and started in on whinging again.  "How am I going to get onto the Council?  Or get out of it?"

"Maybe we can buy them off," said Rowena, who was not interested in discussing it any further.  "But look, about the thought-storage thing --"

"Oh yes, you did mention Stigandrson invited us for a visit, didn't you?" Godric asked eagerly.  "It sounds exciting.  I've never been so far away.  I mean, I've hardly been out of England --"

"You _are_ out of England," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I live here now, so it doesn't count," said Godric.  "And you're Scottish, so it's not that exotic."

"I'm _Greek,_" she said, offended.

"You sound Scottish," he said.  "Anyway --"

"Well, my father sort of is, and I was _born_ here, and grew up here but I'm --"

"See?  Scottish."

"_I_ am the descendant of Odysseus, King of Ithaca and Circe of Aeaea," she informed him.  "Supposedly."

"Really?" Godric asked.  "Why aren't you Princess of Ithaca or something, then?"

"Blame the Romans.  And the Muggles.  Especially the Roman Muggles," said Rowena.  "Anyway, we haven't any proof of that -- I mean, I had this ancestor who tried to lead a slave revolt when he got sent to Britain by Emperor Hadrian, and that's just what _he_ claimed.  We're definitely descended from _him_, but he was mad, so who knows about Circe and all that?"

"Is this the Dark Transfigurator Circe," Godric asked, "or was there a lighter, fluffier Circe?"

"The Dark one," said Rowena, "but I think the Dark part's just good propaganda to scare people into behaving.  I mean, she doesn't seem to have been much more than a socially-maladapted recluse, as far as I've read."

"Or maybe she just really liked pigs," said Godric.

Rowena stopped in her tracks.  "_Eurgh._"

"What?" Godric asked.

She looked at him skeptically.  He was obviously playing at being stupid again.  "Well, what did _you_ mean?"

"Pigs are clever!" said Godric, with worrying enthusiasm.  "I taught one to do tricks once.  Then a nobleman visited Fudge and they had it for supper.  But, er.  It's not impossible."

"Maybe all transfigurators are socially-maladapted recluses," Rowena wondered aloud.

"Maybe!" said Godric, in a tone that suggested he thought anything was possible in theory, as long as nobody was asking _him_ to do anything about it.  "...wait, you just --"

"Oh, look at that, we're at Healer Wootton's already!" said Rowena cheerfully.

"I hate everyone," he muttered.

She laughed.  "You _would_, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I did already.  You just reminded me," he said resignedly.  He pushed the door open with his less-bandaged hand, and ducked in.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After long last, chapter 18 and the new plot arc! Excuses are boring, I know, but I had some unavoidable Big Life Issues that got in the way of writing this, and also caused writer's block. The good news: I have written up to chapter 32, so you will be getting one new chapter a week from me, barring computer issues, apocalypse, etc. The bad news: my beta reader, Kitty, due to her own unavoidable Big Life Issues, is not able to beta for me right now. She did manage to beta the first part of this plot arc (including, obviously, this chapter) but if I don't find another beta before chapter 26, I will be posting sans beta. If you are interested in beta reading for me, please tell me.
> 
> (..."Beta" doesn't even look like a word anymore, does it?)
> 
> Also, I am compiling an illustrated cast list at my fic journal, [tamarindchutney](http://tamarindchutney.livejournal.com/), so if you want to see my laughable art, go there.

As the weather warmed and the drippy end of winter became the drizzly start of spring, the three travelers prepared for their voyage to the icy (well, ici_er_) north.  Helga took it upon herself to do most of the preparation.  She liked planning, and she was the only one of the three who had actually been away from Britain before.  But she'd never gone very _far_ north; though Helga liked experimenting with exotic species from other climates, she'd always told people that most evergreen plants had the wrong personality.  Besides, she had her own reasons for not wanting to go north, although she supposed they were a bit silly.  She tried not to think about them too much.

In truth, the whole trip worried her a bit -- she was happy to go, but something at the back of her head kept insisting that she prepare for this as she would for a business trip.  She usually planned based on what she intended to accomplish, but... on _this_ trip, she didn't particularly mean to accomplish anything.  She had never made a pilgrimage, and travel for her had never been a pleasure -- the dust of the road, the perilous sea crossing, the bags, the foolish fellow-travelers, the horrible food, the inevitable bandits whose hard skulls were likely to ruin her best shovels...  In theory, travel sounded enjoyable, but it never lived up to expectations.

The fellow-travelers were being particularly foolish this time, though.  Usually, except for Basil, she didn't know them until the departure day, when a group would gather at the transport key shop to be magicked part of the way together, and then usually continue on foot, making themselves into a noisy, conspicuously well-off target for bandits.  This time, though, it was only her, Rowena, and Godric, so Helga couldn't help thinking they should have _known_ better than to be idiots.  Rowena insisted on bringing half the books in the library, even though they were irreplaceable and delicate, and Godric kept insisting that he didn't need half the things any sane traveler would have wanted, like extra clothing or blankets.  "I can make do," he would say, which seemed to be code for "I don't have that," or "I don't want to carry that," or possibly "I forgot that I assigned all of my students three feet of parchment on something they all hate, so please, just leave me alone to mark them."

In these cases, she usually appealed to his sense of pessimism.  "What if the second-worst thing that could happen does?" she asked when he was insisting that he didn't need another cloak.  "We can't go by transport key the whole way, Godric.  Suppose you fall into the water and you _don't_ drown.  You're going to be _cold._  You could freeze to death slowly once you get back onboard."

"That's impossible.  I can't swim," he said pleasantly.  "Really, I've got to get these done before they all go home."  He gestured at the immense stack of student assignments on his desk.

"Yes, but imagining that through some miracle you _did_ survive_,_" said Helga, "you'd --"

"I'm convinced that God hates me, actually," said Godric.  "If He didn't, this pile of work would be much smaller."  He squinted at something he was marking.  "_And_ in better handwriting.  And the Aurae wouldn't have broken three of my fingers for a fight I tried to stop."

She was trying not to be cross with him, but she couldn't help sighing.  "That's only proof Lady Aeaeae hates you, Godric.  And that you've assigned your students more than you could mark.  Don't go blaming God for _that._  Is it that you just haven't _got_ another cloak?  Because I think something can be done about that.  Like, for example, you could get another one."

"I have the old one I've had for years," said Godric.  "That should be all right, shouldn't it?  If you _really_ think I _need _one."

Helga had seen the state of Godric's (mostly unmagical) belongings when he had come to the school, and though she had not remarked upon them like Rowena had, they were shockingly inadequate.  She supposed it was because he had spent so much on food and books, which was understandable given his circumstances, but it didn't lessen her irritation.  "No, Godric.  I think you need another one."

"Well, I don't see why," said Godric.  "It only has a few holes in it."  He made a face at one of the student assignments, and scribbled a comment on it, muttering to himself about last-minute work.

"We're going _north_.  Travelling over water.  It's going to be windy," she said, wishing he would look at her when she spoke.

"It's going to be _summer_," Godric pointed out.

Helga sighed.  "It's going to be the _worst_ summer you ever saw.  Trust me."

"How do you know?  Have you been there?" said Godric, gesturing at her with an inky quill.  He looked down at the new splatters of ink all over his desk.  "Damn.  Got to find a spell for that.  ..._Anyway,_ Rowena says --"

"Godric, I love Rowena and she's wonderful except when she's terrible, but she's got no idea what she's talking about when it comes to travel," said Helga.  "At least, not as far as I know.  I mean... she talks like she knows everything, she's always done that, it's just who Rowena is," she said.  "But she's never even been as far as Wales."

"_I've_ never been as far as Wales.  Anyway, she's Scottish," he said, as if this excused a multitude of sins.  "It was farther for her."

Helga sighed.  "That's not the point, Godric --"

"Have you been to Wales?" he asked, curiously.

"Basil and I went to Cardiff once for this ridiculous job," said Helga.  "Very profitable, though.  It was just after we got married.  We were nearly eaten by vicious crop pests, and some Muggles mistook us for part of the Tylwyth Teg."  It had been sort of fun, actually; it wasn't every day you got mistaken for rebel elves by a lot of arrow-happy vigilantes.  "Anyway, there's a reason _I'm_ planning this trip, and I'm only going along to keep you two from killing each other or getting lost."  She frowned.  "Why are you two going, anyway?"

"Um."  He looked stricken, and fumbled hurriedly around for some clean parchment, apparently trying to look as though he was taking her advice.  "Right, so I'll get another cloak -- from the village, d'you think, or should I go to London?  I don't like going to London, it's got too many people in it, but --"

"Edinburgh's much more convenient," she pointed out, although this ought to be obvious to him by now.  He nodded, and jotted down another note.  "You know," said Helga, "you're not doing a very good job of hiding it from me, whatever it is you're hiding.  Neither is Rowena.  I'm only concerned because when she hides things from me, it's usually because they're incredibly stupid.  So what are your terrible plans?"

Hesitantly, he looked at her from behind the parchment he was examining.  "Aren't you upset with her?"

She shrugged.  "I feel like I've been upset with Rowena for years, and it's done me no good.  I'm _tired_ of being upset.  I mean, she's still wrong and all, but she doesn't _want_ to be.  She lives in her own world sometimes, and she's not very good with reality.  I _am_ still annoyed with you about the Muggleborns," she said, "but I suppose it's our fault for sending you out against the army."

Godric sighed.  "It's just that -- well, they're perfectly good students, they're fine in class.  But _that's the problem._  It's... look, I'm Muggleborn, I know how it is.  It would've been a lot easier for me if I hadn't learned magic.  It was _terrifying._  I was taken away from my family and dumped on you lot for years, and you two bullied me the whole time."

That stung, because it was true, but it didn't really apply to their argument.  "It's different now, though," she said.  "Our Muggleborn students _want _to learn magic.  And think about it, Godric -- wouldn't you have gone along with it if you'd known how well it would've turned out?"

He laughed.  "What do you mean, how well it would've turned out?" he demanded.  "Let's see," he said, ticking calamities off on his fingers.  "Because I learnt magic, I was taken away from my family for years, then when I got back everything had changed, and then when I got this _curse_ put on me, I was even weirder, I nearly got stoned to death, had to run away from home, and when you found me, I was working two jobs and still starving to death.  Does that really sound like a happy life?"

"But you're here now," said Helga.  "Aren't you happier here?  You get books!  I can't imagine you being happy without books."

"That was _chance_," said Godric.  "Nothing more, really.  If I'd stayed, I'd have been a bit odd, I always was, but at least I'd have been mostly like everyone else.  I wouldn't have missed books, I wouldn't have cared at all.  And it's not _all_ bad," he insisted.  "Witches and wizards may have it a lot better, but I gave up my family and any chance of having friends when I started learning magic, because I couldn't keep pretending there wasn't anything wrong with me."

Helga had a good deal of sympathy for outsiders, as her mother had never married, and in a lot of people's eyes that made her and Leo shameful evidence of wrongdoing rather than people with a slightly complicated family tree.  But that last bit had thrown her completely.  "What?  Do you mean the height thing?  Because --"

He snorted.  "Oh, no, that came later.  That's just a curse.  I mean the _magic_ thing."

Helga sighed.  Maybe she ought to get Godric to come to church with her and Basil some time.  He was a good person; he didn't deserve to think he was going to Hell for magic.  "That isn't anything _wrong_ with you," she said.  "Is that what you meant about God hating you?  Because you've got magic?"

"Well, after I had to go home, my luck went _completely_ wrong --"

"Because of those Muggle idiots?" Helga pointed out.

He sighed.  "No.  Look, I don't know what it's because of.  I just know that there's something wrong with me and I don't know what it is."

"Just because you have _bad luck_ \--"

"It's not that," he said.  "...Look, it's too hard to explain, Helga, all right?  I don't even know how to explain it to myself.  You don't need to save me.  It's not your job."

She tried not to bristle at his sad little smile.   "I just thought I might be able to help," she said.  "If it does help any, _I_ don't think there's anything wrong with you."

He snorted.  "You're not really the one who gets to decide that, are you?" he asked.

He had a point.  She shrugged.  "Anyway, you're not going to distract me that easily.  What are you and Rowena planning?"

He rolled his eyes at this.  "If Rowena hasn't told you -- well. "  He considered this briefly, then continued on.  "It's not _that_ exciting.  Well, not to anybody _normal._  You know those things that you want to look into because the magic might work or it might not, but they're sort of... they could be used wrong, maybe?  And they're a little risky?"

She knew that sort of experiment well enough.  "It's no fun if it's not a _little_ risky.  Anyway, in my line of work?  It's not worth anything if it's not _very_ risky."

"I see your point," he said.   "But... it's something like that.  We're trying to solve Lord Slytherin's problem of student assignment.  I can't tell you anything else because I am _forbidden, _apparently.  So ask Rowena if you want to know more.  She thinks people would be angry and upset at a little academic experiment."  With a gesture, he indicated what he obviously thought was a miniscule distance between his thumb and index finger, although Godric tended to lack perspective on such things.  "But I know she knows you're trustworthy, and I don't think she thinks I am."

Helga tried not to roll her eyes.  "I wish you two would quit going out of your way to --"

"_Us_ two?  It's _always_ her!" he said.

She gave him a look of patient skepticism.

"Well."  He sighed.  "Mostly her.  I mean.  ...It is _often_ her, you have to agree," he said, starting to sound irritated.  He wrote something else on his list of necessary supplies, then abruptly put his quill down and glared at her.  "Would you _stop_ giving me that look?"

"Why?" she asked.  "It makes you argue my point for me, and I don't have to say anything.  Anyway, I didn't even say _what_ you were going out of your way to do, so you must _know_ you're guilty.  Now, you're getting a cloak, and..."  She looked at her own list, contemplating what else she could talk him into today.  "New shoes, and --"

"What's wrong the ones I have now?" he asked.

"They're worn.  You don't want holes in your shoes when you're travelling.  Anyway, if they look that bad you need new ones anyway."

"They _are_ worn," he said.  "But not _that_ worn."

It was like _pulling teeth_ sometimes.  She rubbed her eyes.  "Look, Godric, you want to make a good impression on your hosts.  You do want _something_ out of them, even if it's just that they continue to be good hosts.  You've got to keep a respectful distance from nobility when you're dealing with them, but you _don't_ want to give the impression that you're _too_ far below them, otherwise they treat you like the help."

He seemed taken aback.  "Er.  But I _am _\--"

"No," she said, "_listen_ to me.  I know what I'm talking about when it comes to depicting myself to others.  We're going for 'independent contractor' here, emphasis on _independent._  You have to be able to leave whenever you like or, if you impress them, they'll try to keep you."

Godric sighed, apparently resigned to his terrible fate.  "I hate buying shoes."

"You don't need to make a big production about it, just get it done," she said.  "And remember not to get the pointy ones, they're illegal for commoners unless you're on the Council," she warned him.  "At least on most of the Continent that I've been to."

"Why would I want the pointy ones?" he asked, grimacing.  "They look silly."

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  Apparently they're coming into fashion.  And I'll buy the extra blankets, since I _know_ you'll forget."

"Are you done adding things to my shopping list?" he asked.  "Because I really have to get back to these horrible assignments."

"For now," she said.  "But now I have to go talk Rowena down from bringing three shelves of books."

"Ooh, which ones?" he asked, brightening.  "I'll carry them!"

"Yeah, I'll be certain to pass that on," she said, backing out of the room.   "Good luck with that pile of work you made for yourself.  The injustice of it is _staggering._  You have my sympathies."

"Thanks," he said, looking glumly at his desk.  "I'll remember that three years from now when I manage to get through it all."

"Any time!" she said brightly.  Then she turned and left, hoping Rowena's Charms class would be over by now.

It wasn't, so Helga waited for a few minutes while she went over preparations in her head.  She knew she didn't have long to wait, because she could hear the telltale shuffling and rustling that meant the students were packing up their parchment and ink in anticipation of being dismissed.

After Rowena's lecture had finished, there was a brief torrent of students.  Helga nearly fought her way upstream and went in, but she heard Rowena lecturing a student, and stopped.  Rowena sounded rather irritated.

Helga listened to the conversation with the student as best she could without provoking feelings of guilt.  Her conscience required that she be able to _pretend_ not to be listening if anyone saw her, so she didn't press her ear against the crack of the door, even though she wanted to.  She thought the unlucky student was the Nigellus boy, who was older than most of the students and all the more conspicuous for it.

Helga privately wondered whether there was something awful going on in the Nigellus household to make the boy so skittish and sullen, but she supposed if anyone would know, it would be Rowena, and after all, wasn't there _always_ something awful going on with nobles?  This last thought Helga knew was uncharitable, but it was also true.  Anyway, he was sort of That Age, wasn't he, when they got all gloomy?  Helga had been That Age once.  She had started her herbological creativity at That Age.  It was not a good age for kindness or generosity.

The argument ended -- Rowena had the last word, and the boy skulked out of the classroom.  She smiled and said "Afternoon!" brightly -- perhaps too brightly -- but he avoided her eye and walked away quickly.

He was definitely That Age.

She knocked on Rowena's door.  "What is it _now?_" Rowena snapped.

"It's only me," said Helga, walking in and putting her roll of parchment down on the desk between them.  "Who were you expecting?"

Rowena looked sheepish.  "I'm sorry, it's been a long day.  Alioth's whinging about the assigned work.  Which they all do, of course, though usually not to my face.  Apparently the _esteemed_ Nigellus family has some dreary system of magical correspondences -- you know, those dull lists that tell you yellow represents air and Libra, and is good for, I don't know, spells involving hawks, arrows, and kidneys."

"Kidneys?" Helga asked, frowning.

"I can't make this nonsense up!" Rowena insisted, throwing her hands up in frustration.  "Next time you make steak and kidney pie, remember -- _wear_ _yellow_."  She rolled her eyes.  "At any rate, the poor boy assures me it works ten times better than all the others that every crackpot in the world has dreamt up.  _None_ of them work at all, incidentally, and ten times nothing is still nothing, but he _insists_, and he won't redo his work so I'm going to have to give him low marks."  She sighed.  "At least he's not actually _cheating._"

"He wouldn't!" said Helga.  "He seems very honorable, if misguided.  I think he's just That Age."

"What age?" Rowena.

"You know, when you start writing bad poems and hanging around with especially lewd minstrels and complaining that your parents don't understand you --"

"My parents _don't_ understand me," Rowena pointed out.  "I don't understand them either.  I don't really see the problem."

"Well, and --"

"But my poetry is moderately improved," Rowena added, "so I must have passed out of the dangerous years.  Of course, I'm older than you -- tell me, Helga, how is _your_ poetry?"

"I never touch the stuff," said Helga.

Rowena boggled at her.  "What, really?  Never?"

"Parchment's too expensive to waste on doggerel, and I've no head for rhyme schemes," said Helga.  "Anyway, I've come about the supplies for the trip," she said.

"Oh, gods, the books," said Rowena.  "I'm sorry, I've narrowed it down to only half what I started with but I know you wanted a lot less --"

"Oh, no, don't worry about that," said Helga, "I've got good news!  Godric's agreed to carry the books."

Rowena went pale.  "Oh.  Oh.  That's..."

"So you can take whatever you like!" she said helpfully.  "I'm certain he'll take good care of them aboard ship.  You know, he's very enthusiastic about this whole travel thing, and I must say, I had rather underestimated him."

"I'll have to take only books I don't mind losing, I suppose," said Rowena.  "Do you think he gets seasick?"

"He says he's never been seasick," said Helga, smiling broadly.

"Oh, good," Rowena said.

"Of course," Helga added, "he's never been to _sea..._"

Rowena winced.  "Is there any way I can just ask him _not to touch my books?_"

"I suppose if you _want_ to hurt his feelings," said Helga.  She loved it when plans came together like this.  She would have to thank Godric later.

"I don't _care_ about his feelings, I care about my _books_," Rowena pointed out.

"Well, I suppose you could cut down on the books you're taking," said Helga.  "Lessen the risk.  I don't think you ought to bring books at all, frankly, they're much too heavy.  Oh, don't worry, you won't be completely bored," said Helga, at Rowena's doubtful expression.  "We can tell _stories!_  Godric hasn't heard half of ours, and I bet we haven't heard most of his, and you always have those violent pagan ones.  Those are fun!"

"It might not be a great idea to tell stories about Odysseus aboard ship," said Rowena.

"Why not?"

"They don't exactly paint the god of the sea in the most favorable light," said Rowena.  "And even if they don't believe in my gods, I've heard about how superstitious sailors are."

"Good point," said Helga.  "Maybe you can transpose the story to a desert!  He could be like Moses!"

"...you know, I don't think that would work at _all_," said Rowena.  "Since it's half about _shipwrecks_ and _whirlpools_."

"Dust storms and quicksand!" said Helga.  She didn't think you got quicksand in deserts, actually, but it wasn't as though either the sailors or Rowena knew that.

"_Maybe_," said Rowena skeptically.  "We'll see.  Hm."  She paused, absently holding the soft end of her quill to her face.  "Do you have that list of books I was going to take, or did I keep that?"

"You made two copies, but if you've lost it already, I've got the one you gave me," said Helga helpfully.

"I think I've lost it already," said Rowena.  "Probably used it to work out some figures."  She took the copy Helga gave her, and after a little pondering, circled four books.  "I don't like these much, and they were cheap.  Godric can _have_ them if he likes.  You can even tell him I said that."

"Tell him yourself," said Helga, who had no interest in becoming a messenger.

"No, then he'd get the idea I was giving him a present," said Rowena.  "I spend too much time with Godric, you know.  I'm getting very sick of him."

"You are?" she asked, surprised.  "I thought you had actually been getting on for once."

Rowena looked extremely dismayed at this observation.  "We _have,_" she said.  "It's _awful._  He got _clever_.  When did he get clever?"

Helga laughed.  "Probably around when he stopped being eleven and started being himself."

"Well, it's disconcerting.  I almost wish he would stop, only I like him better like this," said Rowena, morosely.  "It doesn't mean I have to be nice to him, though, right?  That's your job."

Helga raised an eyebrow.  "You know, Rowena, it's not actually my job to be nice to _anybody._  It's just that I have to work with people, and it's easier if --"

"All right, fine," sighed Rowena.  "I'll try to be nice to Godric as long as I can keep my books safe from him.  But if he insists on endangering anything I might want to reread, I'm going to be a bitch about it."

"Good luck with that," said Helga, who didn't see this going very well.  "I have a glorious afternoon of weeding ahead of me."

* * *

Summer came too quickly for Godric.  He _was_ looking forward to the trip, but summer was not his favorite time of year.  Generally, he preferred the castle to be full of students, as un-social as he was, because that meant he could maintain the illusion of having lots of human interaction and being very busy.

Besides, without student work to mark, he didn't know how he could keep making excuses to avoid Friday pub nights with Helga and Rowena.  It was nice that they were on good terms again, but why they should want _him_ around in public he didn't know.  Besides, Rowena was a bad singer even when she was sober.  He couldn't imagine listening to her drunk.

That was the problem that faced him now -- not the singing, but the pub night as a whole.  "Oh come _on, _Godric, you can't say you've got things to mark, there's no students _left_," said Helga.

"There _are_ Helena and Julian and Devlin," said Rowena, "but I'm bringing them to the de Malfoies' on Monday."

"Can't you take them tomorrow?" Helga asked.

"Urgh.  I don't really think I should be dealing with a Transport Key tomorrow morning," Rowena pointed out.  "And a witch arriving by broom on Sunday is probably bad luck among Muggles."

"Speak for yourself," said Helga.  "I'm excellent luck."

"You don't fly," said Rowena.

Helga ignored this.  "So are you coming, Runty?"

Godric sighed heavily.  "_Why_ do you still call me that?" he asked.

"What do you mean, why?" Helga asked.  "It's your _name_, isn't it?"

"Only because you gave it to me," he pointed out.

"Oh that's _right_, I _did_," she said, looking as though she'd just remembered.  "I forgot, I thought it was Rowena."

"No, it was definitely you," said Godric.  Everything they had ever done to him was _always_ Helga's idea.

"It _was_," said Rowena.  "Mind, it fit."  She looked up at Godric skeptically, and he hunched over his desk, avoiding her eye.  "Still does, in an odd sort of way," she said.

He could feel his face growing red.  "Leave me _alone_," he snapped.  "I get plenty of staring without _you_, why do you _think_ I'd rather not go?"

Rowena recoiled visibly.  "You're -- I didn't _mean_ \-- that wasn't --"  An irritable look settled on her face, and she regained her composure quickly.  "If you're going to be so _sensitive_ about --"

Helga grimaced.  "I'm sorry, Godric, I won't do it again," she said over Rowena's continued protests.  "And Rowena?"

"-- can't even make a little in-joke --"

"Rowena!" Helga said again.

"-- like you need to be _miserable_ all the time.  _What?_" Rowena demanded.

Helga sighed.  "Rowena, stop digging."

"It's the way he _carries_ himself, it's not my fault he thinks he can hide from everything," said Rowena, frantic to explain herself.  "He's sodding sixteen feet tall."

"Or I could get you a shovel," said Helga, resignedly.

"Twelve and a half," said Godric icily, closing the book he had been reading with an audible thump and drawing himself to his full height.  "And I _can_ hide from everything.  It's called leaving the room."

He stormed out with no more comment, although Rowena shouted "Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!" after him.  Half a corridor later, though, he realized he'd forgot his book, and, though it would ruin the effect, he went back to get it.

"What are _you_ still doing here?" Godric demanded.

"We are _having_ a _discussion,_" Rowena said; he supposed she wanted to make it clear he wasn't allowed to be part of it.  Helga put one hand over her face.

"Get out of my classroom," he said, grabbing the book and shooing them away with it.  They didn't move.  He glared.  "GO."  He pointed at the door.

That seemed to jar whatever rudimentary common sense Rowena had, because when Helga said "Come on, Rowena," she _actually listened._

Godric sighed.  Maybe this trip wasn't going to be any fun after all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta-read by Kitty, as I mentioned last week, so thank you, Kitty! I'm still looking for a new beta, so if you're interested, please tell me. Enjoy this week's chapter.
> 
> Also, a brief note on geography: I originally set this chapter in the town of Kingston-Upon-Hull, which is a harbor town. Actually, it is still set in Hull, only when I went and did more research, I found out that the town by the mouth of the river Hull was apparently called Wyke back then, because the king hadn't renamed it Kingston-Upon-Hull. Confusingly, there are several other Wykes in England. If you or a loved one know of a modern-day Wyke, please be assured, _this is not your Wyke._ I apologize for any confusion.

The wizarding harbor at Wyke, hidden carefully near the Muggle one, was busy when they arrived at midday.  The ship they would be taking to Bergen wouldn't leave until early the next morning, and most of the arrangements had been made, but once they had left their overnight things at the inn, Godric had wanted to see the ships and the ocean.  He'd told Helga he wanted to ensure it was spelled to be comfortable for him -- which was partly true -- but he had to admit, it was more because he'd never seen an actual seafaring ship before.

It was smaller than Godric had expected, but it had an enormous sail with a red bear painted on it, flapping in the wind, and the sight of this alone was thrilling, although the name of the ship -- the _Hafsvin_ \-- meant 'Sea-Pig,' and confused Godric terribly until Helga pointed out the smaller flag bearing the Aeaeae winged pig rampant.  This was one of Stigandr Bjornson's ships, and of course he was Lady Aeaeae's ally.

The ship was well-spelled, and though Godric and Helga got stares from the crew, the captain showed him around and Godric was satisfied that the voyage would be... well, not comfortable, certainly, but he would survive.

When they got back to the inn, Helga held the door open for Godric.  "Let's hope Rowena took care of our rooms," she said.  He looked over the heads of all the people for her.  She would probably be easy to spot -- when Godric was around, she was usually the second-tallest person in the room.

The inn was crowded and noisy, and quite full of odd people -- in many cases even odder than Godric himself.  A man with two heads -- not _quite _concealed in his hood -- was in two separate conferences with what looked like a lady with tusks, and a tall, wispy, _literally_ rail-thin man.  Godric tried not to stare, because he knew how it felt to be stared at.

A pretty barmaid with dark hair greeted them.  "You'll be the ones with Lady Ravenclaw, I take it?"

"That's us!" said Helga.  "Come on, Godric.  _Don't look at them,_" she hissed up at him, and Godric realized he was _still_ boggling at the two-headed man.  How did two-headed people _work?_, he wondered. 

"Just follow me," said the barmaid, grabbing two of his fingers and looking up at him pleasantly.  "Pity you can't stay for very long."

"Er," said Godric, finally noticing her.  "Er, yeah.  I.  Uh."  He did a double-take.  Her eyes were very striking, not because of their color, but because there was no white in them at all.  Except for the pupils, they were entirely brown.

"There you go!" said the barmaid.  "I think she's back there somewhere.  And I'm sorry about that lot," she added, gesturing back at the odd group.  "They're not usually a problem here."

"Problem?" said Godric.

"Godric!  Come on, let the woman do her job," said Helga.

"Er.  Yeah.  Thanks."  He waved as the barmaid left.

Helga rolled her eyes.  "_Don't_ stare at the land-elves again, that lot is dangerous."

"...Land-elves?" Godric asked.

"Land-elves," said Helga.  "You've heard of land-elves, haven't you?"  He had not.  He frowned at Helga.  "Land-elves," she repeated.  "Freed-elves?  Rebel elves?  _Elves._ They're not bound to serve like house-elves, and they don't all look the same, either," she explained.  "Don't Muggles have all sorts of stories about them?  They call them faeries too, sometimes, but they're not like those little flying ones that ruin leaves.  They're the _really_ bad sort."

Comprehension finally dawned.  "You mean those are _real?_"

"Unfortunately," she said.  "The Council's been trying to wipe them out, or at least keep them from stealing children.  We still have problems with them every now and then; I think the last big clear-out was in Edinburgh -- which was unusual, because they don't like cities -- but there are still a lot left over."

"Now that I think about it, you mentioned being mistaken for them in Cardiff," said Godric, remembering something she'd mentioned earlier.  "But you don't look anything like --"

"Oh, the Muggles we ran afoul of had some jewelry charmed to detect non-humans; they must've stolen it from respectable witches or wizards, and mistaken the meaning when Basil showed up as not human.  Generally, if you can't tell what species somebody is, he's probably an elf or a half-breed or cursed, or you ought to be updating your bestiary."

Godric considered the pretty barmaid with the dark eyes.  "So that girl...?"

Helga laughed.  "Oh, no, the barmaid?  With those eyes she's got to be a selkie.  They're all right, selkies.  Mostly harmless.  Now, where's Rowena?  Knowing her, she's flirting with some murderous Unseelie knight.  I love her, but she's got the _worst_ taste in men," she sighed.

"He doesn't look that Unseelie to me," said Godric, pointing at a table where Rowena was, indeed, involved in conversation with a heavily-armed man.  He had a worrying number of daggers at his belt, a large, worn mallet, and, incongruously, a shaved head and a silver cross around his neck.  "I mean, unless land-elves can be clergymen."

Helga put her face in her hands.  "What did I tell you?  She's predictable.  I'll see what this is about."  She approached their table.

Godric didn't follow her.  He looked back out at the land-elves.  All he knew about them was that they were as strange-looking as he was -- which made him want to like them -- and that they were evil and stole children -- which did not impress him as being very neighborly.

He supposed he wasn't _quite_ as strange as they were, since he was not an evil child-stealer.  And if they were all the same species, why did some have two heads and others only one head, but with tusks?  It made them even stranger than they already were.  So really, Godric supposed, he was nothing like them.

On the one hand, it was reassuring to find out that somebody was further away from normal than he was, but on the other hand, he was not comfortable with the strange and selfish satisfaction it gave him to be less odd for once.  Also, there was the matter of the stolen children.  Did the land-elves eat them?  (Probably not.)  Use them for labor?  (This had happened to Godric once when he'd been kidnapped by goblins.)  Sell them back to their parents for a profit?   (Unlikely, Godric thought.  Once he'd escaped, his father had tried to sell him right back to the goblins.)

"Everything all right?"  Godric looked around.  It was the selkie barmaid, carrying an impressively loaded-down tray of empty plates and cups.

"Fine, yeah," said Godric.  The tray teetered.  "D'you want help with that?"

"Nah, I know how to balance 'em," she said.  "I'm Adela, by the way."  She extended a hand for him to shake, and somehow kept the tray from sliding.  "I expect the accommodations aren't what you lot are used to.  We get all sorts, but never fancy people like Lady Aeaeae's daughter."

"Actually, I used to work in a place like this," said Godric.

"What, really?" she asked.  She motioned for him to follow her back to the bar, and Godric went.  She set her tray down.  "Summat to drink?"

"Yeah, all right," said Godric.

She brought out a mug big enough for Godric, filled it up from one of the kegs behind the bar, and gave it to him.  "There you go."

Godric was surprised.  "'Course, where I worked they didn't have cups for me."

"Like I said, we get all sorts," she said.  "So, are you her bodyguard or something?"

Godric laughed, picturing Rowena's face at hearing this question.  "I'd make a _terrible_ bodyguard," he said.

"Well.  You don't look like you'd be half bad."  She smiled lazily, and Godric had the impression she wasn't talking about bodyguards.

He concentrated on his beer, and decided to change the topic to something sane people found dull, because he thought possibly she was flirting, and he was terrible at flirting.  "Actually, I'm a Transfigurator."

Her demeanor changed entirely, but instead of being bored, as he had expected, she looked very alert now.  "Really?  What sort of Transfigurator?  Do you know Prudentia Quigg?  Or, or, or!  Thaddeus Fudge?  Wait, wait, _are_ you Thaddeus Fudge?  Oh, now I feel stupid," she said.

"I am not Thaddeus Fudge," Godric reassured her.

"Of course you're not Thaddeus Fudge," she said, rolling her eyes at herself.  "So who are you then?  Have I heard of you?"

"No," said Godric, frankly.  "Well.  I mean.  Unless you wrote to Master Fudge recently to have a spell done; he's been sending a few of his clients to me."  Not many, to be fair.  Mostly they were the ones Fudge had always been a little afraid of, and Godric had had to turn down most of them.  "But you don't seem like one of those clients," he said.  "I hope not, at any rate."  He made a face.

"Why?  What on earth were you being asked to do?" she asked.

"Er."  Godric went pink.  "So -- you get a lot of strange requests when you're a Transfigurator.  And a lot of them are rather... worrying?"

She leaned forward.  "Tell me!"

He put his face in his hands.  "There was this complete _arse_ who wrote asking me to -- to -- to alter the anatomy of, er, various livestock animals for --"

"Wait, never mind, I don't think I want to know the details," said Adela.  "That's disgusting.  Someone actually --"

"He was offering quite a large sum," said Godric.  "But alas, I have standards."

She laughed.  "And before you were a Transfigurator, you worked in a pub?"

"Well, sort of during," he said.  "I was Thaddeus Fudge's apprentice, but I didn't exactly have a lot of money, so..."

She nodded.  "Do you think he would take a new apprentice?" she asked, and her sudden interest in his work made sense.

"He's... retired," said Godric.  He wanted very much to explain to her that Fudge was a fraud with a convincing professorial air, and Godric had done most of the work himself, but he would sound _mad.  _How could he sit there and call one of the greatest Transfigurators in the world a confidence man?  He'd just sound jealous.

"Oh," said Adela, looking disappointed.  "So what's your business with Lady Ravenclaw, anyway?"

"Oh, we work together," said Godric.  "She's -- she and Helga and I are professors of magic."

"Are you from that school up in Scotland?" she asked.

Godric nodded, enthusiastically.  "We're going to visit one of Rowena's friends this summer, though.  One of Bjornson's sons."

"Oh, that makes loads more sense," she said.  "See, I was glad when you came because Lady Ravenclaw was driving me mad.  She kept asking and asking for you."

"She kept asking for me?" Godric asked, confused.

"Well.  No," said Adela.  "I mean, she kept asking for you and that woman you came in with.  But mostly her.  She kept coming up to me and saying 'my dear friend Helga, have you seen her, she's this short blonde woman who's really pretty and sweet and funny and blah blah blah also she's with this bloke who's big.'  I was beginning to think they were _lovers_ or something."  She frowned.  "...They're not, are they?  I mean, nobility's always _eccentric,_ what are you going to do, but... that's a bit odd even for the Aeaeaes.  Although she does have that aunt from the Isle of Man," she said, darkly.

Godric did not follow gossip about Rowena's family, because he spent entirely too much time dealing with the fact of Rowena to care.  "Helga's married.  Helga's _extremely_ married," he said.

"Right.  Well.  So's the Manx Cat, and that don't stop her, does it?" said Adela.

"I don't know Rowena's family," said Godric, with some distaste.  "We don't get on."

"You don't get on with her family or you don't get on with _Rowena?_" inquired Adela, apparently amused that he was on first-name basis with someone he'd known since he was seven.

"Both," he said, shortly.  "What sort of transfiguration are you interested in?" he asked.

"Ah.  I'm being nosy.  That was very subtle, sir," she said, laughing.  "Well.  Thing is, I'm half-selkie.  You probably noticed the eyes, yeah?"

He nodded.  "I don't -- forgive me, I don't really know what selkies _are._  My parents were Muggles, so I don't always know things like that."

"Muggles.  Really?" she asked.  When Godric did not make any effort at explanation, she said, "Selkies are seal shapeshifters."

"So, like werewolves, but with seals?" Godric asked.

She looked alarmed.  "Absolutely not!"

"I -- er -- I didn't mean to offend you," said Godric, quickly.  "Go on."

"Werewolves aren't _real_ shapeshifters," said Adela.  "They're mindless, vicious beasts with no control -- and usually they were that way before they got bit, too.  _Selkies_, on the other hand, selkies know what they're doing when they change, and we do it on _purpose,_ and we stay _perfectly_ reasonable all the while."

"So you can change at will," said Godric, trying to move past all the things she was saying about werewolves.  "More like an Animagus?"

She nodded.  "Exactly.  And I thought it'd be interesting to see if I could sort of take that instinctive magic apart and work out how it's done --"

"Oh, that would be a _fascinating _study," said Godric.

"Do you want to hear what I've worked out so far?" she asked, and he nodded.

* * *

Helga, meanwhile, had been talking to Rowena and her new friend -- one Father Iestyn, a vampire-hunting priest on his way to Riga -- about books and theology and magic, when she realized that Godric had wandered off.  She pulled Rowena aside.  "Where's Godric?  Didn't he come here with me?"

Rowena shrugged.  "I saw him leave just before you started arguing with me about booksellers," she said.  "I thought he went up to the room to be alone and brood.  You know how he is."  She rolled her eyes.

"He was in a good mood!" said Helga.  "He's all excited about travel.  We were talking about land-elves, and there was this -- there was -- augh."  She stood.  "I really _hope_ he's talking to the barmaid, because otherwise he's wandered off to talk to a bunch of hooligans."

"What, that selkie girl?" Rowena asked, blinking.  "You don't think she's trouble, do you?"

"She seems nice enough," said Helga, "but you know Godric.  He won't actually have the nerve to say more than three words to her.  Which is why I'm worried about the land-elves."

"What, isn't he frightened of _them?_" Rowena asked, surprised.  "I was surprised they were being all..."  She gestured vaguely at their surroundings.  "All _public_ like this."

"He'd never heard of them," said Helga, "at least not _properly._  You know how it is, he's _Muggleborn._  He's only got distorted information.  I'll go and extract him from whatever he's got himself into."

She went to find Godric, and saw, to her relief, that the land-elves were gone, and that he was indeed talking animatedly to the selkie girl.  There was an array of silverware, dishes, and condiments laid out on the bar, and the girl was gesturing with a cup, evidently explaining something complicated.  "...and then it just sort of, I don't know, clicks into place, like I've always been a seal," she said.  "But all the conditions need to be right."

"Huh," said Godric.  "It'd make the most _sense,_ from a practical standpoint.  _And_ it'd explain why nobody's thought of it before."

"They haven't?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, you'd think they _would_ have, it seems so sensible now, but I bet nobody asked," he said.  He sounded rather smug about it.

"Nah, they just want to see the transformation.  Probably because I have to be naked," she added, with an amused excess of casualness.

Godric went very red.  "Er.  You didn't mention that."  He looked away quickly, and gave a start as he saw Helga standing there watching him placidly.  "Aah!"

"Evening, Godric," she said.  "Were you planning on joining us for, oh, say, pleasant conversation, dinner, or _the trip?_"

"Oh, it's you," said the girl, giving Helga a friendly smile.  "You found your Lady Ravenclaw easily enough?"

"Yes," said Helga.  "I was just trying to keep Godric here out of trouble."

"Oh, don't worry," said the selkie, not seeming to notice.  "He's no trouble at all.  I never get to talk to anybody who knows a _thing_ about transfig."  She beamed at Godric, who looked very guilty and red.  "See, 'cos I wanted to study with Fudge but he says he's retired, but he's probably just --"

"Er, no, he's definitely retired," said Godric.  "Hopefully."

"It's probably better for his health," added Helga.  Rowena had told her about the plot her mother and Fudge had devised, and anyone who made Rowena that upset was fair game for Helga's collapsible shovel.

"Definitely better for his health," said Godric, looking worriedly at Helga.  "Er, anyway, I.  Er.  Ah."   His speech seemed to clog up as he remembered the context of their conversation.

"Godric studied with Master Fudge," said Helga, helpfully.

"Oh, yes!  I did!"  He sounded as if he'd only just remembered.  "I, er.  I mean.  I _did_, but now I teach.  I think I mentioned that.  Did I mention that?"

"You did.  The new school in Scotland," said the girl.

"Yes, that," said Godric.  "Er.  So that's... where I am.  Except not this summer."

"No," said the girl.  "You mentioned that too."

"Bad memory," said Godric, apparently starting to panic again.  "Sorry.  I should probably go."

"Probably," the girl agreed.  She seemed to be trying not to smirk.

Godric got to his feet.  "So.  Yes.  Goodbye.  Er.  Come on, Helga."  He grabbed Helga's arm, all but dragging her away.

"Nice girl?" Helga asked.

"Augh," said Godric articulately.

"_Very_ friendly," she added.

"I didn't _mean_ anything!" Godric insisted.  "I just.  And then.  And we were talking, and then.  And."

"I think she was just seeing how long it would take you to run away," said Helga.  "If it makes you feel any better."

"No," he said.  "Why should it?  Augh," he repeated.

"Sorry about that," she told Father Iestyn when they arrived at the table.  "This is Father Iestyn, Godric.  He's coming north with us to hunt vampires!"

"Pleased to meet you," said Iestyn.  "I've heard a great deal about you, Master Gryffindor."

Godric looked at him in astonishment.  "From who?"

"Lady Rowena was telling me all about your clever solution for getting around some wards she had up," he said, leading them back to their own table.

"...Really?"  He looked suspiciously at Helga, as though she might be responsible.

"_Really?_" Helga asked, having herself assumed that Rowena wouldn't mention Godric at all to a stranger, except in negative contexts.

"Godric!" said Rowena, as they arrived at the table.  To all evidence, she was happy to see him.  "Where'd you go?"

Godric went red, and gestured behind them.  "Oh, I was just, um, over -- I had a --"

"Barmaid," said Helga, sitting down next to Rowena, who laughed.

"_Helga!_" he whined.

"Won't Aurelia Sheffield be jealous?" Rowena asked, extremely amused.

"I was talking to her about _theory_," insisted Godric, now very grumpy.  "You know I can't talk about..."  He trailed off.  "You know I'm no good with women."  He grabbed a chair and began fiddling with it, using his wand to make it into more of a bench.

Helga raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, really?  What are we, then?"

"Well, you're _married_, and Rowena hates me," Godric pointed out, "and besides, I've known both of you forever."

Rowena looked insulted.  "Why do you always act like --"

Godric sat on his bench, ignoring her.  "Are there many vampires in the north?" he asked Iestyn.

"It's a good climate for them," said Iestyn.  "The rot comes slower, when it comes, and it's dark more often.  And there are less Christians."

"Oh, yeah," said Godric, sounding glum.  "I suppose that makes sense.  So are you a Muggle or something?"

Iestyn looked surprised.  "No, of course not.  Why would I be?"

"Well, you're clergy, right?" Godric asked.  "And clergy _hate_ magic."

Iestyn looked rather taken aback.  "Where did you get that idea?"

"From, er.  ...Oh."  Godric looked as though he'd suddenly realized something.  "Well, I'm, you know, Muggleborn, and I grew up in the country, so I suppose the magic-hating went along with that."

"That's too bad," said Iestyn.  "A lot of Muggles have got it all wrong.  Officially, magic doesn't even _exist!_"

Godric looked at Rowena, who was also frowning.  "Yes, that was the line a Muggle of my acquaintance took," she said, slowly.  "How does that make it any less bad?  Being able to do impossible things is never good for the soul.  Or sanity."

"What you and I call magic isn't the same thing as what most Muggles call magic," said Iestyn.  "It's convenient shorthand.  We've been trying to come up with a better word for it, but unfortunately it's not easy to replace the word for an entire concept.  Magic as we practice it is more like... fragments of miracles," he said.  "Because our magic is _real._  Only God can make real things.  The Devil works in lies and illusions, and that's the sort of magic that's wrong to do.  But you and I, we can do real, _good_ things with magic.  We can make more food, to keep ourselves and others from hunger.  We can light a dark room.  We can heal.  That's God's work.  It doesn't always have good results immediately, but we can't know how it'll all turn out, of course, we're only human."

Godric didn't look convinced.  "Fine, so if I'm some sort of tiny saint or whatever and I can do little miracles, why can Rowena do them too?"

"He's got a good point," said Rowena.

Godric looked oddly at her.  "Yes.  I have," he said cautiously.

"Oh come on, Rowena's a heathen, not a _bad person,_" said Helga.  "Her magic's done a lot of good."

Rowena went rather pink at this.  "I do what I can," she muttered.  "And technically," she added, "I'm New Reformed Hellenic.  Ish.  The heathens are a _completely_ different group."

"But what about all the times she's hexed me?" Godric asked, as though this was the most unfair thing in the world.

"Maybe your god _wanted_ you to be hexed," Rowena said.  She was _not helping._

"See?  God _does_ hate me!" Godric said, waving a finger at Helga.  "I was _right!_"

"Godric, you're being egocentric," sighed Helga.

"Oh, so God doesn't care about me, then," said Godric.  He crossed his arms.

"Godric, you're being _irritating,_" said Helga.

"Do you always all talk over each other?" Iestyn asked.

"Mostly," said Helga, sighing.

"_Always_," said Godric, wrinkling his nose.

"Never!" said Rowena cheerfully, apparently just to be contradictory.

"At _any_ rate," said Iestyn, "I suppose the pagans have magic for the same reason we have it -- they're meant to do something good with it."

Godric snorted.

"Or maybe your having been hexed will be useful to you in the future," said Iestyn, amused.  "I don't know."

"I _do _know.  I know that it bloody well hurts," said Godric, glaring at her.

"Healers and surgeons sometimes have to hurt something to mend it," said Iestyn, shrugging.  "Things that seem bad may lead to good."

Godric still looked skeptical, but Rowena just looked smug.  "Clearly I'm _brilliant._  And miraculous."

Helga decided that that was enough.  She elbowed Rowena, hard.

"OW!  What was that for?" Rowena demanded.

"Too smug," said Helga cheerfully.  "Also, stop hexing Godric, you've done it enough."

"You're no fun," said Rowena.

"At any rate," said Iestyn, "I'm afraid I have to leave the theological violence to you for tonight.  I need to ensure that everything's in order for tomorrow.  These Northern sailors have _no_ respect for a hunter's tools."

"Too true," said Helga.  She remembered an unpleasant altercation she and Basil had had with their ship's crew over whether a Hand of Glory was permissible aboard ship.  "Wrapping very magical things in cloth-of-silver seems to help keep them undetected."

Iestyn laughed.  "Vampires take a _lot_ of killing, so they need a lot of tools.  If I could afford _that_ much cloth-of-silver I'd have my own fleet.  See you tomorrow morning!"  And with that, he departed.

"I'm so _glad_ we've got at least one nice shipmate," said Rowena.  "How many passengers are usually on these things?"

"Not many," said Helga.  "...I ought to remind you that priests are _celibate_, Rowena."

Rowena blushed.  "I wasn't _flirting_.  He's just very well-read, is all."

"And he hunts vampires," Helga pointed out.  "You have sort of a thing about vampires."

"Let's talk about something else," Rowena said quickly.

"Fine by me," said Helga.  "Tell us about the selkie, Godric."

"Yes, tell us about the selkie!" said Rowena, grinning viciously.

"Will both of you leave me alone about that?" Godric demanded.  "I'm -- she was very, er, forward, but I'm _not interested_."

"She seemed very interested in transfiguration," Helga pointed out.

"Oh, _did she?_" Rowena asked.

"Oh, stop it," grumbled Godric.  "I'm not -- I don't -- we're only here for a day.  _Besides,_ she was saying some very uncomplimentary things about werewolves, and I decided --"

Helga bristled.  "As if she can talk.  Everybody knows selkies are terrible gossips with loose morals, and they aren't even very _bright._"

Godric seemed a bit startled at this outburst.  "Er.  Right.  Well, you said they were all right, and she seemed quite clever, actually --"

"Helga, you're being very silly," said Rowena.  "She was quite nice to me, and I did pester her a bit."

"Well, she _had_ to be nice to you," Helga pointed out.

"And she was nice to Godric," said Rowena.  "I mean.  Possibly just because she wanted to get into --"

"An apprenticeship with Thaddeus Fudge," said Godric quickly.

"_Right,_" said Rowena, smirking.

"Shut up, Rowena," said Godric.

"Oh, _fine_," said Rowena, rolling her eyes.  "Oh!  So now that we're out of the castle, I think we should tell Helga what we're doing.  Tell her your idea, Godric," she said.

"I was researching, er.  ...this is going to make me sound creepy, isn't it?" he asked Rowena.

"Probably," said Rowena.  "But we won't tell your selkie barmaid."

Godric went red.  "_Rowena,_" he said, glaring.  "I was researching transfigurational methods of mind control, and I think I worked out how to do it."

"You_ what?_" Helga asked.

"I _told you_," said Godric.  "I _told you_ it was going to make me sound creepy."

"No, I just want to know how you got around the thing where -- argh, it's Circe's something, it's on the tip of my tongue -- you have to know what something _looks_ like before you --"

"Circe's Law of Transformational Beginnings?" Godric asked.

"Yes, _that,_" said Helga.  "Sorry, I always get it mixed up with Ninane's Non-Undoability Principle."

"..._Gods_," said Rowena, sounding disgusted and horrified and impressed all at once.  "You two are such --"

Helga held up a hand to stop her.  "Keep in mind, Rowena, that however you finish that sentence, you're just as bad as we are about academic gibberish.  If not worse."

"...consummate professionals!" Rowena finished.  It was clearly not what she had had in mind.

Helga nodded.  "Much better."

"Anyway, I disproved that," said Godric, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Helga wondered if she'd heard right.  "...You disproved Circe's First Law?"

"You just have to know what something is," said Godric, gesturing excitedly.  "Mind, if you can't see it that's a lot more difficult.  But in _principle_ \--"

"All right, but why do you want to control minds?" Helga asked.  Then she had another idea.  "Oh!  Is this about the thought-collection thing to sort the students?"

"Yes," said Rowena, obviously still grumpy about Helga's refusal to promise not to sabotage their sorting thing.  "But it might actually _work._"

"It _will_ actually work," said Godric.  "I _think._  If it would make you feel better, I'll be the first to try it out, in case something goes wrong and it eats minds."  He frowned.  "Hrm.  That _would_ be bad.  I'll try to keep it from doing that."

"Your confidence is heartening," said Helga.  Then something horrible occurred to her.  "Wait.  Does Bjornson have mind-control spells?  Is that what we're stealing?"

"Not that we know of," said Rowena.  "But he has got something that collects thoughts, and that's how Godric found it."

"I was just doing some research and found it in some Council letters Lord Salazar had saved," said Godric.  "But I do want to do more with the mind-control thing.  I mean, not that I want to _apply_ it," he said.  "I just want to know if I _can_ manage it."

"Just don't tell Lord Salazar," said Helga.  She didn't like the idea of a Council politician with access to that kind of power.

"That's exactly why Rowena didn't want me telling you about it until we left," said Godric.  "But you know, he'll probably find out about it anyway.  He's not _stupid._"

"Well, no, but it isn't as though the secret _can't_ be kept," said Helga.

"He's got that goblin spy, though," said Godric, grimacing.  "I don't trust him."

"Well, of course not, he's on the Council," said Helga.  This was common sense to her.

"I _meant_ the goblin," said Godric.  "A thing like that shouldn't be in a school, don't you think?"

Helga frowned.  "It's only a _goblin_, Godric," she said.  "I mean, it's not an _elf_."

"And there are plenty worse things he could be keeping in a school," said Rowena.

"Like _what?_" Godric demanded.

"Dementors!" said Helga.

"Or Cerberi," said Rowena.

"Or dragons," said Helga.

"All_ right_, so there are worse things," said Godric, "but _goblins are bad._"

Helga snorted.  "Only if your defenses are _totally_ inadequate.  I've seen rhododendrons mount more successful invasions."

"Helga," said Rowena, in an odd tone.  "Helga, I don't think --"

"Oh come on, Runty's just a bit of a coward, like always.  I mean, what did they ever do to you?" Helga asked.  Godric simply glared for a moment, color rising in his cheeks, and she took a satisfied swig of her ale.

Then he stood, still glowering.  "_This_," he said.

Helga stared up at him, frowning.  "What d'you mean, '_this'_?"

"They did _this_ to me," he said, glaring down at her.  He indicated himself.  "They needed a weapon, so they took me and cursed me."

Rowena sighed.  "Helga," she muttered, "you've set him off whinging again.  This is what you warned _me_ about."

"They did _what?_" Helga asked.  Goblins weren't supposed to have magic, were they?  Common knowledge _could_ be wrong, though.  ...And she had been a bit insensitive, she had to admit.

"There's a nice brand they did on my shoulder, too," Godric said, injured.  "It says I'm a troll, apparently, though I can't read Gobbledegook."

"_Goblins_ cursed you?" Helga asked, for confirmation.

"I think we've established that," said Rowena.

"But goblins haven't got magic!" she blurted.

"I think they must have it," said Rowena.  "It explains a _lot._"

"And also, I've _seen it,_" Godric pointed out.

"And also, he's seen it," said Rowena helpfully.  "He _is_ rather good at disproving things, you have to give him that."

"_What_ does it explain?" Helga asked.

"Why my mother got me married to a useless Muggle," said Rowena.  "It was during that failed goblin rebellion, remember?  They besieged all these Council families all at once, for a long time, and I don't think they could've done half as well without good communication spells.  _Really_ good ones.  _I_ wouldn't know how to do them."

Helga frowned.  It made a _lot_ of sense, now that she thought about it.  "Mum _was_ pretty worried, and yours would be in a better position to know..."

"Well, she never actually _told_ me," said Rowena, "but she said Lady Slytherin went missing, and that seemed important..."

"Eesh," said Helga.  "Maybe that's why Jasper's so snotty."

"Wait, why does _she_ believe me and you don't?" Godric asked her.

"I know!  What's the world coming to?" Rowena said.

"I'm _sorry_, I'm still stuck on the part where everything I know is wrong," said Helga.  "I believe you, I just --"

"Well, _thanks_," said Godric, sarcastically.

"But... what kind of magic do they _have?_" she asked.

Godric shrugged.  "Hurts, whatever it is.  It's transfiguratory, but I've never been able to make sense of it.  Or undo it."

"It looks like house-elf magic, but stronger and meaner," said Rowena.  "Maybe more like other elfish magic, but I haven't looked at any of that, and I don't want to," she said.

"And you know this how?" Helga asked.

She went slightly red.  "It's all over Godric," she said.  "Er.  I was looking at you to, you know, see _why_ you were --"

"Some kind of monstrosity?" Godric asked, sounding glum.

"Suddenly taller than me," she said instead.  "You used to be so tiny and easy to torment!  I hope you don't mind.  I was just curious, and...."  She paused, frowning slightly.  "And a bit worried about you."  She was looking very intently at her drink.

"I don't mind," he said.  He suddenly perked up, as though he'd had an idea.  "You don't know how to undo it, do you?"

Rowena shook her head.  "No idea.  It's in your _bones_, did you know that?"

"It's _what?_" Godric asked.

Helga sat back, half-listening, as they talked about magical theory and Godric's "curse."  She felt a bit bad about what she'd said about Godric, but, well, he _did _complain a lot, and he _did_ act as though his life was tragic and awful, but as far as Helga could tell it really _wasn't_.  After all, at least he was _human_ all the time.  Even if he didn't look it.

She anxiously played with the silver cross she wore around her neck whenever Basil wasn't with her -- it was a hunter's traditional engagement present, more practical than pretty, and he'd given it to her back when he'd been human.

There would be a full moon in less than two weeks, and for the first time, Helga wouldn't be there to help Basil afterwards.  She tried not to think about what would happen if something went wrong and he only had Jasper and Lord Salazar to take care of him, but the worry settled in her stomach like a stone.  He had been perfectly able to take care of himself until he'd been bitten, but now... well, she didn't know 

"Helga?  Are you all right?" Rowena asked.  She looked puzzled, and worried.

She looked up.  "What?"

"That thing's not going to get any shinier," said Rowena.

Helga realized she'd taken the necklace off.  The chain was wound around her fingers, and she'd been turning the cross around and around in her hands.  "I think I ought to write Basil a letter."

"Oh come on, we just _left,_" said Rowena.  "He knows you're all right.  It's not like you can't take care of yourself."

"I don't think he's worried about me," Helga pointed out.

"There's parchment and ink in my trunk if you didn't bring any," said Godric, ignoring Rowena.  "Er.  Although I might have put the parchment at the very bottom."

"...thanks," said Helga, not relishing the thought of digging through an entire chest of luggage.  "I think I brought some of my own, though, don't worry.  Sorry, I'm not -- I should just --"

"It's fine," said Rowena.  "Go write to your husband.  I think Godric and I can keep from killing each other for a while without you looking after us."

"Barring accidents, at least," said Godric.  "We'll avoid controversial topics of conversation."

Helga snorted.  "Thanks.  You're so reassuring.  I'll probably be back later," she said, "but if I'm not, remember we've got an early morning tomorrow."  She left them, wondering if she ought to write Basil a long, cheerful letter, or a short one enclosed in a longer note to Lord Salazar, explaining exactly what she would do if Basil wasn't in perfect health when she came back.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta'd by Kitty, but yes, I'm still looking for a beta.
> 
> Also, a brief note on canonicity, Pottermore, and worldbuilding: I'm sticking to the events and implications of the seven novels and three in-world books for canon. I'm NOT including information from the many and varied WB promotional materials, video games, things J.K. Rowling has said in interviews or put on her website over the years, or the new information Pottermore is providing us with. I love that JKR has giving us these details, and I will probably end up using some of them in this or future fics - I especially like her wandlore, for example - but the medieval world I'm writing in this fic doesn't reconcile well with a lot of the new information or the more obscure interview information, and I'd have to change the story completely to incorporate all of it.
> 
> (I _may_ also have a slight grudge against Pottermore because I got sorted into Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff.)

Their first day at sea was nothing extraordinary according to Helga.  Godric felt differently, though; he'd never _been_, and it was nothing short of brilliant.

Cold and wet, yes.  Cramped, definitely.  Full of staring people, oh yes.  But the constant up-and-down of the ship had been easy to get used to, at least for him, and there was something about the wind and the sea and the cold that made him happy.

Unfortunately, Rowena did not seem to be faring very well.  Godric decided to leave comforting her to Helga, because after all, Rowena didn't like him, and he didn't think Helga would mind a distraction from worrying about Basil.  He had been about to suggest that she read to keep her mind off the nausea, but perplexingly, Rowena had brought very few books with her, and the only one that wasn't hidden somewhere near the bottom of her trunk was a cookery book, which seemed quite unhelpful in this instance.

So Godric contented himself with looking out at the sea and watching the way the water moved beneath them.  Sometimes the waves would be consistent, but sometimes the way the ship was moving forced one wave to crash into another, changing them both completely.  It was a bit like how layering spells sometimes had intensely unpredictable results, and Godric wondered if it was just a good metaphor or if maybe magic really did work like water.  It probably didn't, he decided.  After all, you didn't have to keep magic in buckets and wells.  It was just _around._

He was jarred out of his contemplation when someone tapped on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be in the way," he said, getting to his feet.  Then he saw that it was Father Iestyn, the hunter.

"Don't worry, you're not," said Iestyn.  "...wait, you aren't ill, are you?"  He took a step back.

"Oh, no," said Godric.  "I was just looking out at the water.  Er.  I think Rowena's still feeling queasy, though, if you wanted to know where she was."

"Is she?  I thought she went below," said Iestyn.

"I think she thought not being able to see the water would help," said Godric.

Iestyn wrinkled his nose.  "It smells just like feet down there.  I can't imagine that would help at all.  Why doesn't she just sit up here and read?"

"The only book she's got with her is a cookery book."

"Eugh.  Bad choice," said Iestyn.  "Why'd she bring _that?_"

"No idea," said Godric.  "I think she was going to tell stories, though.  Maybe we could try to talk her into coming up and telling them here?"

"Oh come _on_," he heard Helga say, from somewhere below.  "What you need is some fresh air."

"What I need is some _solid ground_," said Rowena mournfully.  But whatever Helga'd said, it had been effective, because she and Rowena were on the deck in a few minutes.  Rowena still looked rather ill, but considering the pained expression on her face, Godric decided it was best not to mention it.  "Good morning," she said, upon seeing them.  Apparently she was trying to be cheerful.

"Late afternoon," mouthed Helga.

"Or late afternoon," Rowena added.  "Whichever the case may be."  She sounded downright dismayed now.  "I missed a _whole day?_" he heard her whisper to Helga.

"Master Gryffindor here was telling me you were going to tell stories," said Iestyn, smiling.  "I can only do so much water-watching; would you favor us with a story now, or do we have to wait?"

"Oh, er."  Rowena looked as though someone had caught her in a lie.  "You wouldn't like them," she blurted.

"Why not?" Helga asked.  "I like your stories.  They're always so... er.  Different!  _Alive!_"  Godric privately thought to himself that neither of these was necessarily complimentary.

"They're all about _old dead people_," Rowena said.

"History!" said Iestyn.  "I love a good historical tale."

"They're, er, more what you'd call... not history," said Rowena.  "I mean, there may be some historical basis, but I doubt if there ever was a Trojan Horse..."

"Oh, yes!  I'm familiar with some of the story of Troy.  I've read the _Ilias Latina,_ it was thrilling," said Iestyn, enthused.  He frowned.  "I mean, not -- not that such stories are very philosophically enlightening," he said quickly, "but it did help us learn Latin.  ...But, my lady, I thought your family was Greek."

"Yes, well," said Rowena, "the Romans mischaracterize everybody and talk about poor Odysseus as if he's some sort of villain.  _And_ they don't even get his name right.  Ulysses!  It's not even _sort_ of the same name."  She tsked.

"Oh, I'd be _fascinated_ to hear your version," said Iestyn, and Rowena went slightly pink.

"That's that one about Achilles and Patroclus, isn't it?" Helga asked.  "I remember liking it.  Mind, these ancient foreign names are confusing, so you'll have to remind me which one's the man and which is the woman."

Iestyn looked at her as though she was perhaps turning into a turnip.  "Neither is a woman.  They're Aegean warriors.  How could they _possibly_ \--"

Helga was equally confused.  "But don't they -- I thought there was a tragic love story --"

Iestyn raised an eyebrow.  "Perhaps you're thinking of Troilus and Creseyde?"

For some reason, Rowena's expression was now slightly panicked.  "I don't think we should tell that story.  You'd need a lot of background information," she said.  "Why don't I start with the story of Odysseus returning from the war, over, er, the desert?"

"The desert?" Iestyn asked.  "Are there deserts in Greece?"

"There are now, apparently," said Rowena.  "It was her idea!" she added, pointing at Helga.

"There aren't deserts in Greece?" Godric asked, feeling very lost.

"The original story involves... things which are not good to talk about aboard ship, apparently," said Helga.   "Anyway!  I brought some folding chairs.  None for you, Godric, sorry -- they don't unfold _that_ much."  She took three tiny objects out of a pouch and, through some fascinating-looking magic, they expanded and assembled themselves into some plain but passable benches.  "There!  Now sit down, Rowena.  You'll feel much better once you're thinking about something else."

Rowena seemed skeptical, but she sat.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  "All right.  It's been a long time since I told this one in full.  Feel free to help me out a bit, if you care to."

Godric was confused.  "But we don't know --"

She opened her eyes.  "I wasn't talking to you, was I?  ...Now then, back to the story.  Odysseus was a great and clever warrior.  It is said that the Trojan Horse was his idea, and though that made him infamous and cruel to the Trojans, he was a hero to his own people.  This is the story of how he returned from war despite the curse of the... the, er, god of the desert.  Whose name escapes me now, for some reason.  _Anyway_, after many trials, Odysseus had found himself imprisoned, and being a Muggle, he couldn't do anything to escape..."

It was an interesting story, for all that it was pagan and historical, and Rowena obviously knew it well; she only ever hesitated in the telling when the desert was mentioned.  By nightfall, Rowena had told them about the gods who had a stake in Odysseus' return or death, and about his wife Penelope and their son, Telemachus.

Apparently Odysseus' home was filled to bursting with men who wanted to marry Penelope and take his place as king.  Rowena was careful to explain that, as unwanted as the guests were, the pagan gods looked down upon inhospitable hosts, and so Penelope could do nothing about them but hold them off and hope that her husband still lived.

At first Godric had found the whole thing a bit silly, and spent the story trying to pick out truth from fiction, but Odysseus had such horrible luck that Godric couldn't help but sympathize.  When Rowena stopped telling the story, he was actually disappointed.

Over the course of the voyage, she continued to tell the story, which wound back on itself; after Odysseus was rescued by strangers, they asked him to tell his own story from the beginning, and his audience found out what had become of him since he left the war in Troy.  Meanwhile, his family in Ithaca were undergoing their own trials in dealing with their unwelcome guests, and the gods above made deals and played games with the lives of mortals.

* * *

By the time they'd arrived at Bergen, the novelty of travel had worn off, but he was rather disappointed not to be getting any more of the story until the return trip.  Still, it was nice to be able to get out of the ship's close quarters.  He kept having to remind himself, even as he looked at the foreign harbor town, that they were somewhere _new_, because for some reason his mind was telling him that since _he_ was here it couldn't be anywhere different.  The language was the most notable difference, although when Godric listened carefully, he found he could understand most of what people were saying, as many of the Norsk words were similar to the Englisc ones.

The next day, they bade farewell to Father Iestyn, who would be staying at a monastery nearby for at least a month longer, and set off to the Transport Key shop.  Stigandir Bjornson had his own Transport Key enchanters, of course, but the shop had been as good a place as any to wait to be summoned.  Godric was actually a bit disappointed when they entered the shop and found that, on the inside, it was as dull as any Transport Key shop.  Bored-looking people waited on the long benches and stood against the walls, waiting for the harried-looking woman behind the counter to call them up.

The shop was busy, though, and the woman was already dealing with a large, slow group of travelers when they arrived.  They waited for the group to get their things together and move out of the way before approaching the counter.

"Excuse me," said Helga to the shopkeeper.   "We're going to --"

The shopkeeper looked up from her list.  "Are you the Undorn Key to Sandefjord?"

"Er, no," said Helga

"Then keep out of the way," said the woman.

"What's an undorn?" Godric asked, worriedly.  He couldn't work out what it meant at all, but it sounded like some sort of vicious sea monster.  He did not want to be eaten by a sea monster.

"Means afternoon," said Rowena.  "They have eight parts of the day and night, instead of hours."  She tsked.  "Don't you ever _read?_"

"I do, actually," said Godric, "so it's always irritating when _somebody else_ has taken _all the relevant books _from the library."

"They _are_ my books," Rowena said.

Helga cleared her throat.  "If you'd both shut up?"  She turned back to the shopkeeper.  "We're not regular travelers.  We're going to Bjornson's fort at Dovre."

The shopkeeper looked skeptical.  "You're late."

"We had a late start.  Some of us are not early risers."  Helga looked meaningfully at Rowena.  "And some of us got lost."  Godric looked away.  He had wanted to see a bit of the city before leaving it.

"Well, I'm going to need to see your amulets," said the shopkeeper.

Helga sighed, and pulled her own amber pendant out.  She showed the shopkeeper that it glowed in her hand.  "Look, there you are.  I promise I'm really Helga Hufflepuff.  Come on, you two," she said.

"Is this what those leeches were for?" Godric asked, examining his own amber pendant.  There was a leech trapped inside, and he was fairly certain he'd never actually _seen_ a leech in amber before.  They'd all been given leeches before the trip, to take blood samples, and he wondered what sort of spell they used to enclose it in amber.

"_Last_ time I needed that sort of identification they were using fleas," said Rowena, wrinkling her nose.  "Just when I'd got good at delousing charms, too.  This sort of thing is why I'd much rather fly."

"All right, here's your key," said the shopkeeper, pulling a wooden cube from behind the counter.  "It's supposed to leave soon," she added, glancing at the water-clock on the counter, "so I suggest you grab hold of your luggage and don't go anywhere.  But do it _somewhere else_, right now you're in the way of the real customers."

Helga looked as though she was about to snap back at the woman, but she looked behind them and made a face.  "Right, come on -- Godric, would you take my supplies bag?  It's the heaviest.  Thanks."

Godric grabbed three or four bags, including the one Helga had pointed at.  He hoped all the clanking noises it was making weren't an indicator of broken supplies.  He looked over his shoulder and saw _another_ huge group of tired-looking travelers waiting for their Transport Keys.  "I think we've got everything -- Rowena, can you carry this?"  He passed her a bag before she could answer.

"I suppose we'll find out," she said, sounding strained.  "Oof.  Not for very long."

They managed to get to an unoccupied corner of the shop, and, after some minor arguing, arranged themselves and all their things so that nothing would be left behind once the cube was summoned.

"This is my favorite part," said Godric, unenthused.  He had ended up with several more bags than he'd needed, and he had to stoop to keep hold of the Transport Key.

"Oh, don't complain.  It's starting to glow," said Helga, "it probably won't be l--"

There was a nauseating pulling sensation, and Godric closed his eyes tight so that he wouldn't have to see the scenery change around him.

And then they were elsewhere, and it was windy.  Godric just managed not to fall over, although now that his hand had suddenly come unstuck from the Transport Key and he could stand again, it took a great deal of effort not to fall over sideways.  He opened his eyes.

Oh good.  They were standing in what was apparently the center of a group of wooden buildings.  In the distance, Godric could see something bright encircling the settlement -- probably wards of some sort, he decided.  There were three or four Norsemen and a sturdy blonde girl of about sixteen or seventeen waiting for them.  Among them, Godric only recognized Hrafen Stigandrson, though the girl looked exhausted, like she'd probably just Summoned three people and an inordinate amount of luggage.  Godric put most of his things down and shook out his arms, hoping the feeling would return to his fingers soon.

Ari Stigandrson ran up to the group.  When he saw them, he grinned.  "I'm sorry I'm late," he told them.  "We had a little problem with our usual Transport Key summoner, and I was reassuring Grimhildr's father here that he would be paid for her services."

At this, the teenage girl -- evidently Grimhildr -- rolled her eyes.  "Am I done here?  I mustn't upset my _lord_ and _master._"

"Yes," said Ari.  "I'm sorry about that.  Blame it all on me, all right?"  He patted her on the shoulder, and she scowled and left.  "Anyway.  Welcome to Bjornarbitholm!"

"Is that what you call it, then?" Rowena asked, looking at the wooden longhouses.  "Bit of a mouthful for such a little place."

"It's not made of stone," said Stigandrson.  "but the fortress has been here for a long time.  It may not be a castle, but I assure you, our magic is more recent than our architecture; it is much more comfortable than it looks.  So," he asked Rowena, "you are feeling better?"

"Oh, Healer Wootton's treatments got my wrist healed in about a week," said Rowena.  "It's back to normal now."

"Good, good.  I broke some fingers in a duel when I was young, and they never did heal right."  He seemed to remember Godric, at the mention of broken fingers.  "And you, my friend Gryffindor," he said, "have you also..."  He looked to Godric's feet, where a number of crates and bags were still piled in disarray, and began to laugh.  "They made you carry all the bags, didn't they?"

"I don't know what they'd have done without me," said Godric, shrugging.  It was weird, someone being friendly to him who wasn't from the school, but it was also refreshing not to be feared.  Then, he supposed people might find Ari intimidating too.  He was big, for a normal person, and while he had dressed in a more southern fashion at the feast, his Norse finery made him look rather savage.

"And did Rowena bring eight thousand of her favorite books?" he asked Helga.

"Just a cookery book," said Helga.

"Come, I'll get somebody to show you to where you're staying," said Ari.  Godric started picking up his baggage again, but it started floating of its own accord, and when he looked up, he saw that Ari had just put his wand away.  "What, you don't think we can cook up here?" he asked, feigning insult.  "Wild and uncultured, yes, but everyone likes to eat."

"I only wanted to bring the book I would miss the least," said Rowena.  "I've never been on a ship before."

"Was the journey difficult?" he asked.

"Nothing bad happened," said Helga.  "No pirates, no storms.  It was very nice."

"Except I was ill," said Rowena.  "But that passed."

"Rowena told stories," Helga added.  "About a traveler who's telling a story about his journey.  It all seems a bit recursive now.  Does Odysseus end up encountering anybody along the way who tells him _their_ story?" she asked.

"Sadly, no," said Rowena.  "Unless you count the ghosts."

Ari led them to one of the further huts, and it transpired that they would have an entire longhouse to themselves.  But of course, once they got into the house, though it was surprisingly large and well-furnished, there were no real walls.  Just three beds -- one rather large and two of the usual size.

Rowena and Helga exchanged a look, then turned towards Godric.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh come on," said Helga.  "The chivalrous thing to do would be to volunteer to sleep outdoors.  And you _are_ the only man."

"My definition of chivalry definitely doesn't include freezing my gullible arse off outside," he said.  "Anyway, I have a better solution."  With that, he raised his wand and transfigured a wall from the wood of the rest of the hut, trapping Rowena and Helga off in the smaller part, and leaving himself, the fireplace, the only door, and all of the still-floating luggage in the larger half.

The nearly instantaneous cacophony of knocking and shouting made him smile.  He transfigured a door into the wall, and held it open for the two women.

"You're such an arse," Rowena informed him pleasantly.

"Do you get angry at everyone who opens doors for you?" Godric asked.

"No, just people who are completely patronizing about it," she said.

"We_ were_ sort of asking for that reaction," Helga pointed out.  "I mean, not that we couldn't have spelled our way out, but it was very gracious of you not to leave us to starve to death."

"My kindness amazes even me," said Godric.  "Which one of you would have killed and eaten the other?"  He attempted to dismantle the floating charms on the chests, but to no avail.

"Me," said Helga.  "_Finite Incantatem!_"  The chests dropped abruptly.  "Rowena's always struck me as very easy to kill and eat."

"I wouldn't be very nourishing, though," said Rowena.

"I could make you last," said Helga.  "There's always bone marrow."

"How do you even have _answers_ to these questions?" Godric asked.

"I like to be prepared for anything," Helga said brightly.  "Cannibalism happens."

Godric looked around the hut.  "Why's it like this, anyway?  Why haven't they got a big stone fortress like Lord Slytherin?  Bergen was a normal city, like Wyke and London."

"Bergen is a Muggle city.  This," she said, gesturing at the hut, "belongs to an old wizarding family.  The magic makes this old-fashioned stuff more comfortable and lets the owners show off how much money they've got to spend on spells.  And by now you _must_ have noticed the old families like to pretend they keep to the old ways, even if they don't.  You should hear my Auntie Epione go on about tradition and honoring the gods.  They'll have castles in a thousand years, maybe, but for now, here, huts are the thing.  Old is fashionable."

"But Lord Salazar has got a castle," Godric pointed out.

"Lord Salazar's father was murdered by my mum just before she took over the Council," Rowena said.  "I expect he wanted something a bit more solid between him and the Aurae, if she decided to declare war.  Anyway," she said, "this place has got more spells on it than you would think."  She waved her wand and said "_Manifestus!_"

All over the long, dark room, things began to glow -- bright blue knots flowed like waves over the chests, while the wall Godric had made, though it was technically wooden, glowed in a red brick pattern.  He watched as his own bones burned and fizzed angrily beneath his skin.

Then, just as suddenly, everything went back to normal.

"What the hell was that?" Godric asked.  He was just as glad it had gone away, but he still wanted to _know._

"Makes magic visible," said Rowena.  "I didn't want to risk bringing an aura lens.  It's a bit flashy, but it'll do."

"Oh, I don't know, it wasn't _that _flashy," said Helga, rubbing her eyes.  "I mean, I think everyone from here to Rome noticed that spell, but the Pope might have missed it."

Godric examined his fingers again, still disturbed.  "But my _hand_ was --"

"It looks like there are no eavesdropping spells," she said.  "That means we can work out a plan here."

"Were you _expecting_ eavesdropping spells?" Godric asked.

"Always expect eavesdropping spells," said Helga.  "I think some nobles get their kicks out of listening to other people's conversations, even banal ones.  Anyway, am I allowed to hear you make your horrible brilliant plans?"

"If you like," said Rowena.  "Godric, I think you should be the one to ask about the prototype, since you're the most hopelessly obsessive about your subject."

Godric raised an eyebrow.  "Why do you always say that like it's _bad?_" he asked.

"Well, if we were talking about me, I would have phrased it more flatteringly," said Rowena.  "But we're not.  Anyway, Ari really likes you, so he'll want to impress you with all the interesting people and things he has.  I assume this thing involves some Transfig, so ask to meet their Transfigurator, maybe?"

"That's what I was thinking -- they _have_ to have one if Bjornson's so interested in research," said Godric.  "...you know," he added, "I don't think I've met another Transfigurator.  Not a _real_ one, at any rate," he added.  "Once Prudentia Quigg sent Fudge an invitation to discuss the business while he was in London, but he turned her down because, well, he wouldn't have known what he was talking about."  He shrugged.  "I haven't heard of anybody particularly good up here, but you never know.  Still, I don't think I'm up for anything but sleeping tonight," he said.  "Unless you have more of your story?" he asked Rowena hopefully.

"I'll take sleep over story time, sorry," said Rowena.  "Anyway, tomorrow there'll be a tour and you'll forget all about Odysseus."

* * *

There was indeed a tour the next day, which Ari seemed gleeful about.  Godric felt very _bad_ about this whole venture, because he liked Ari and didn't want to take advantage of his naïveté -- he wondered why they couldn't just _ask_ him for the prototype in secret, but he supposed Rowena knew her friend better than that.  Besides, these Norsemen were all about honor and courage and risky, difficult things like that, Godric thought.  They probably wouldn't give up anything interesting without a fight.

And Godric didn't like the idea of a fight, especially not here.  Bjornarbitholm was bristling with soldiers -- some were clearly other nobles, or warlords, or whatever Norsemen had; they had the helmets and weapons and were dressed as glimmeringly as Ari.  Others were clearly Bjornson's private guards, and it was unnerving to Godric how alike they all looked.

There were few women -- none among the fighters, which Godric found odd, because some of the best duelists he knew were women.  Most of the researchers had female assistants, though -- wives, daughters, sisters, nieces.  They were going to meet Grimhildr's father Sindri, who, as it turned out, was the closest thing to a Transfigurator they had here, but in front of the longhouse on the outskirts of the settlement, they met Grimhildr instead.

"He's _busy,_" she snapped, leaning on her spear.  "Get out of here or I will run you through."  There was a loud explosion from the longhouse, and a plume of orange smoke erupted from the chimney hole in the center.

They watched the smoke pour from the building for a moment.  "Well," said Ari, speculatively.  "I do not think that that's supposed to happen."

"Are you sure he doesn't need any help?" Godric asked Grinhildr.  "I mean, we could conjure some water," he offered.  "Well, _they_ could conjure some water," he said, gesturing at Rowena and Helga.  "I'm really of no use here."

"We had all noticed," said Grimhildr.  "Get your stupid tourists out of here, Ari.  I don't _care_ how well you like the looks of --"

"It's just that that smoke looks like what happens when you're trying to transfigure a metal," said Godric.  "He's not trying to transfigure a metal, is he?  I mean.  _Everyone_ knows not to do that, even _me_."

Blue flames shot from the chimney, setting fire to the wooden roof.  The acrid smell of burning potion reagents permeated their nostrils.

"Er.  Except for him, apparently," said Godric.

Grimhildr was muttering under her breath and using the point of the spear to draw pictures in the air or something.  Soon, a small cloud formed just over the smoking building, and began to pour rain down into the flames.  "I can handle this as long as the _stupid_ people stay out from underfoot," she said.

Grimhildr was built along the lines of Helga -- plump, sturdy, and quite short -- which made "underfoot" a terrible word for her to use.  "_Technically,_" Godric started, but Rowena hit him with a head-thwacking hex of her own invention, and he decided to shut up.

"I hope that turns out all right for you," said Helga cheerfully.  "Why's she so grumpy all of the time?" she whispered to Ari.

"She takes after her father," said Ari.  "Sindri is... a difficult man.  We keep him here for his own good, mostly.  He would not survive elsewhere."

"Oh, like Godric, then," said Rowena, jokingly.

"What are you talking about?  I'm great at surviving elsewhere," said Godric.  "I'm elsewhere _now_."  Privately, he felt bad for this Sindri -- and he wondered if Lord Slytherin would let _him_ leave, if he'd wanted to.  Probably?  Hopefully.

"...No," said Ari, frowning at Godric for a moment.  "Not like Godric at all.  Sindri is... he is an angry man.  He acts like a beast in a trap."  Godric supposed that Bjornson's fortress was the trap, although Ari didn't seem to understand why a person wouldn't like to be kept. "He is working on the problem of speaking across long distances.  It seems to involve a lot of fire," he added.  "I confess do not know why.  But perhaps we can come back later," he said, "and not all burn to death." 

"Oh, I don't think we should bother him," said Godric, making a mental note to come back there later, when everybody else was sleeping.

"What?  But I thought you said you wanted to see the Transfigurator."  Ari was baffled.

"It's just that -- he sounds very, well, ill-tempered," said Godric, "and I would hate to trouble him when he's busy."

"Godric is extremely afraid of fire," Rowena said, as if confiding an embarrassing secret that was not her own.  Usually when she said this sort of thing, she wasn't lying_, _and it was rather galling that she sounded so _convincing_.

"I am not!" Godric said, automatically.  Then, realizing she was giving him an easy out, he said, "Well, maybe a little."

"Then we will leave Sindri to his own... inflammable devices," said Ari.  He frowned.  "You would not have liked him much anyway.  And he has moat duty today."

"Moat duty?" Godric asked.

"Yes," said Ari.  He pointed at the bright orange wall encircling the settlement.  Godric had thought it was a visible ward of some sort, but now he realized it was much simpler than that -- it was a wall of flame.  "You did not notice?"

"Wow.  Er.  Actually, I didn't _realize_ _\--_ must take a lot of relighting, that," said Godric.  He looked at Rowena, who was the only person he'd ever seen flinging about fire spells as though they were nothing.

She was frowning.  "And Sindri takes care of the whole moat?" she asked.  "He must be very powerful."

Ari shrugged.  "His daughter has a great deal of magic, as women often do.  I think he finds her very useful."

"She didn't look very happy about it," Helga pointed out.

"Well, she wants to be in charge of herself," said Ari.  He looked around before adding, "I feel badly for her, but she is not any saner than him."

"Why doesn't she just leave?" said Helga.  "I mean, if she's so _powerful_\--"

"Oh, my father wouldn't let her," he said.  "Besides, he hopes that one day he can convince her to marry me; our children would be powerful, you see, because I am...."  He made a face.  "They say I practice women's magic.  Which I don't!" he insisted.  "But he is very anxious to have me married.  I doubt if it will happen, of course -- she dislikes me.  I _cannot_ imagine why."

He smiled smugly, and his tone of voice suggested that Grimhildr had had to put up with quite a lot of carelessly embarrassing remarks in front of foreign dignitaries and accidentally being tripped while carrying breakable objects, and Godric could see, for the moment, why she had been so unpleasant to them earlier.  He began to ask why Ari didn't just marry somebody else, but Rowena shushed him.  The tour moved on to the forges, and the intersection of magic and blacksmithing -- an art Godric was wholly unfamiliar with, given Transfiguration's inability to affect metal -- was too fascinating to bother with such petty interruptions.

* * *

After supper that night, Helga decided to take a walk.  She'd had an uncomfortable idea about who Bjornson's pet lunatic Sindri was, and her suspicions had only deepened when Godric and Rowena had determined that the thought storage device hadn't been in any of the other workrooms, and was probably Sindri's invention.

Then again, there was Grimhildr to consider.  He might be justified, if... but.  No.  Helga pushed the thought from her mind.

Helga listened at the door of the acrid-smelling hut they had stood outside earlier, and, hearing nothing, whispered an enchantment Basil had taught her which would alert her to another's presence nearby.  There were only one or two people in the nearby workshops, putting away their instruments or waiting for metal to cool, but Sindri's burnt-out workshop was empty.

Good.  She slipped in quietly, and closed the door behind her.  There was a door directly opposite hers, facing out towards the moat of fire, and she put a jamming spell on both doors, to slow anybody down long enough for her to escape.

Then she took a deep breath, lit her wand, and looked around.  The workshop was surprisingly dingy -- much like the others they'd seen that day, it was cluttered with all manner of magical debris and cruft.  Preserved animals and bones made one end of the room look a bit like a wolf's den, while at the opposite end a cage full of bullfrogs sat surrounded by a worrying number of containment sigils.  From what Helga could tell by looking at the sigils, the bullfrogs were either Inferi or they carried some sort of horrible plague.  She couldn't work out which was worse, and decided that she didn't want to know.  Elaborately-carved broken wands and staves lay scattered all over the worktable in the center, and funnels and glass flasks (mostly unwashed) were scattered near the firepit.  She glanced through the few pieces of parchment scattered around the room, but all were notes of a theoretical nature, and not about anything she particularly wanted to know.

Sitting on a trunk next to the undead frogs was a bowl full of something shining and silver.  Helga peered into the silvery stuff -- quicksilver, perhaps? -- and saw her own face, reflected, but very distorted.  She frowned; it made her look much younger than she was, but she did not want to dwell on that.  She picked the bowl up gently and set it down on the ground, not daring to spill a drop.  This was probably what Rowena and Godric were looking for, from their descriptions, but that wasn't what she had come for.

She examined the trunk, biting her lip thoughtfully.  It was scorched in places and spattered with alchemical and biological stains; apparently it had been witness to much.  _It's probably just supplies or something_, she thought, feeling silly for having come this far.  She hadn't found what she'd expected, and now that she was here in somebody else's laboratory, she didn't see why she'd expected to find it in the first place.

Still, in front of her was a trunk, as yet unexamined.  If she just left without looking, she knew the feeling of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach would never go away.  But if she looked...

If she looked she would know.  Maybe.  Either way.

Helga took a deep breath and reached down to open the trunk.  It was locked, and _very_ heavy.  Damn it.  What _was_ that spell Basil'd told her about?  He said it'd been indispensable in his larcenous youth.

She recalled it, unlocked the trunk, and pushed it open slowly.

Inside there were trays of corked bottles.  Not what she'd wanted.  Still, she picked them up and looked at the labels.  Interesting.  Curious.  Lord Salazar would probably have killed to get his hands on these.  She wasn't here for that, though.  She sighed.

And then she blinked.  One of these bottles was full of spiky Whomping Willow seeds.  It was labeled "H XII."  Where on earth had he got those?

She combed through the bottles, finding more seeds -- twelve in all, all labeled H I through XII.  All of them were definitely Helga's plants.  Helga's _very proprietary _plants_._  That horrible queasy feeling wasn't getting any better, and now she sort of wanted to cry.

She put the bottles back quickly -- she saw scrolls of parchment underneath the trays, but she didn't want to look at his notes.  This had been a mistake.  If anyone was better off ignoring the unknown, it was certainly Helga.  She tried not to think about how all the seeds there had been her favorites, the ones that had taken her months to develop -- in some cases _years_.

She absolutely didn't want to think about this.  She should have stayed in Scotland, she decided; she didn't want to be anywhere near here.

Helga returned the workshop to exactly the same way she'd left it.  She wondered if she ought to tell Godric and Rowena that they were right about Sindri having the thought-collection thing, but then they'd want to know what she'd been poking around in his workshop for, and why she hadn't taken it for them.

She left the workshop, closed the door behind her, and circled the building to walk back towards the center of the fortress -- but as she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into Grimhildr.

"Sorry!  Sorry," said Helga.  "Didn't see you coming!"

"No," said Grimhildr, looking at her as a viper might look at a rat, although the effect was ruined because Grimhildr was just too young to take seriously.  "You didn't.  What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Helga blinked.  "Taking an evening walk," she said.  "It's sort of a thing I do after dinner.  I usually go into the woods, but you've got your moat of fire," she said, gesturing at the flames.  She gave Grimhildr what she hoped was a winning smile.

Grimhildr didn't look convinced.  "I don't like you."

"I don't see why not," said Helga.  "I mean, I don't think we've been properly introduced.  I'm --"

"I know exactly who you are," snapped Grimhildr.  "Get out of my way."  She shoved Helga to the side, and entered the workshop, closing the door with a slam.

"Viking hospitality," muttered Helga, shrugging to herself.  She felt very _bad_ for Grimhildr now.  It occurred to her that, well, he had all those bottles and none had been labeled with Gs.  She was never going to feel good about this, was she?  She sighed.  Best to move on before it got to her.  Or before Grimhildr got to her.

She made her way back to the guest longhouse, where Godric and Rowena appeared to be arguing over bits of parchment.

"Yes, but _these _are the only thing we've got with a Council seal on it," said Rowena, holding up the documents they had used to get onto the ship and at the Transport Key shop.  "So they sort of look official.  And they say 'Authorized' at the top."

"Yeah, but if he looks at them he'll know we're not _really_ safety inspectors," said Godric.  "Since they say 'Authorized to Board Ship' or something, not 'Authorized to Be Fake Inspectors Who Are Really Thieves.'  And what if he takes them and rips them up?  How'll we get back to Hogsmeade?"

"We'll just say we lost them," said Rowena.  "I've got plenty of connections to get us back, and I can always blame your absentmindedness."

"Great plan," said Godric, rolling his eyes.  "I still think we should make up a fake checklist."

Helga cleared her throat.  "Wouldn't it just be easier just to ask Ari for the thing you want to steal?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to do that to Ari," said Rowena.  "He'd feel bad giving it to us.  It's one of those honor things.  They do honor here.  I'm not very clear on how it works, but I don't think that secretly giving a bunch of tourists your super-secret mind magic device is allowed."

"I wasn't aware he was so fair-minded," said Helga.  She could still remember him cheating in that duel with Basil on the day they'd first met.  And he'd called her _little._  He was nice and all, but he was _such _an arse.

"Oh, I think he'd help, but he'd be found out," said Rowena.  "The thing about Ari is he always has these terrible overcomplicated plans," she said.  "It's best he doesn't know, really."

Helga raised an eyebrow.  "Overcomplicated plans?  I'd never have guessed.  Well, all right, Rowena.  Good luck."  If she couldn't talk them out of a stupid plan, nobody could.  She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Rowena asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, nothing," said Helga.  "I'm just -- it's been a rough day, I suppose."

Rowena snorted.  "Oh come on, you had fun today, didn't you?  I know there were no interesting plants, but how about those metal-seeking moles they were breeding?  Those were fun!"

"Yeah," said Helga, trying to sound cheerful.  "But... I suppose I'm just homesick.  I miss Basil."  She _did_ miss him, but it was those damn seeds Sindri had that she kept thinking of.  "Look, I'll let you two get to your thievery, but I'm not helping.  I did see Grimhildr go into Sindri's workshop, though, so you might want to wait until she's left it."

"All right," said Rowena.  "Thanks."  She paused.  "And don't worry about Basil, all right?  I know you two don't see eye to eye, but I'm _sure _Lord Salazar would know what to do if he got hurt over this full moon.  And he doesn't _usually_ get hurt," she added.

"Yeah," said Helga. "I know he'll be fine.  I'm just a worrier.  But really, don't worry about me."

"All right," said Rowena.  "...Godric, where'd you put our travel documents?"

"Helga liked _my_ checklist idea," he said, "so _I_ win the argument.  Right?"

"Right," said Helga, snorting.

"Whose side are you on?" Rowena demanded.

"Mine," said Helga.  "Now make up your fake checklist and get to work."

"Well, I bet we won't even need to use them," said Rowena haughtily, apparently having lost all enthusiasm for the Fake Inspector Ruse in the last few seconds.

After a few minutes of busy chattering and nearly-friendly argument, Godric and Rowena had pulled something together that seemed to work well for them.  When they left, Helga found the silence uncomfortable, but considering what she'd just seen, the sounds of merriment drifting in from outside of the guest hut were not at all tempting.  She sighed, lay down on her bed, and soon fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with confusing, fragmented dreams.


	21. Chapter 21

Rowena had read that the sunsets were late and long-lived in the Northern summer, and though she had found it a bit disconcerting last night, tonight she was glad of it; she and Godric used the long shadows to conceal themselves as they waited for Grimhildr to leave the workshop.  Of course, with her bad eyes she had hardly been able to tell that the person who left _was_ Grimhildr, but Godric was certain.  "It's just how she carries herself," he explained.  "You can't miss it."

"Well, obviously I _can, _since I just did," said Rowena, "but I know what you mean.  Like that spear's been in some uncomfortable places?"

"_Rowena!_" said Godric, sounding scandalized.

"Oh come on, tell me I'm wrong," she said.

"It's still an awful thing to say," said Godric.  "Anyway, she's gone now.  We can go in, I think," he said.  They set off to steal the secret of thought storage, moving quietly but quickly through the shadows.

The workshop was dark when Rowena pushed the door open.  She held the door for Godric, then lit her wand.  "What does it look like?" she asked him once he was inside.

"It's supposed to be a bowl," said Godric.  "Here it is!" he said, enthusiastically hurrying over to look at whatever he'd spotted, and completely blocking her view.

Rowena peered instead at the cage of frogs next to it.  "Godric, you might want to step to the side a bit," she said, reading the containment sigils around the frogs.

"Why?" he asked, blinking.  One of the frogs croaked suddenly, and he jumped.

"The frogs.  They're carrying some sort of horrible disease," she said, grimacing.

"They look healthy to me," said Godric, frowning.

She squinted at the runes.  "They're also all dead," she pointed out.  "Undead.  Or whatever.  At least, they are according to all these wards around them."  She did _not_ like the looks of this Sindri fellow, or at least, not his research.  If he wasn't doing anything with human corpses, _technically_ he hadn't broken any laws, but reanimating frogs was necromancy enough.

"Rowena, don't be silly.  Why would anyone want a bunch of sick dead frogs?" said Godric.  "They're probably wards left over from something else."

She raised an eyebrow.  "Well, if I'm right, you could put a few of these in the Tiber and step back and in a few weeks you've got a lot less people left alive in Rome."

"Oh.  Yeah," said Godric, sounding uncomfortable.  He sidled away from the frogs.  Now she could see what he had been looking at -- a shallow wooden bowl, carved all around with runes, and filled nearly to the brim with something silvery.

"How are we going to take it with us?" she asked.  "Is that stuff important, d'you think?"

"Can't we just work out how it works without stealing it?" Godric asked.  "He's _got_ to keep notes around somewhere.  Maybe in this trunk -- hold this!"  He grabbed the bowl and abruptly shoved it into her hands, then tried to open the trunk.  "Locked," he said.

Balancing the bowl in one arm, Rowena cast a spell to make the trunk briefly invisible.  The top had a tray of little bottles, but underneath were several scrolls of parchment.

"Aha!" said Godric.  "Knew it.  Unlock the trunk for me?"

Rowena sighed.  "Do I have to do _everything?_"  But she unlocked the trunk with another wave of her wand, then set the bowl down on the ground before she dropped it.  Godric slid the scrolls from underneath the tray, shut the trunk, and began to skim, using his wand to light the page.  "This light spell's really useful, by the way," he said happily.  "Thanks for making me learn it."

Rowena sighed.  "What, you mean _Lumos?_  You should have _known_ it.  It was the first thing Mistress Lockhart taught me."

"Well, I never learned it," said Godric.  "I thought it must be too advanced or something."  Rowena found it perplexing that someone as obviously clever as Godric hadn't managed to learn _Lumos_, but she didn't say anything further -- she didn't want to give him the idea that she _respected_ him or anything.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, although anytime somebody else was reading something interesting and she had to just sit there and _watch_ them seemed like an eternity to Rowena.  "Anything?"

"No," said Godric.  "This is mostly stuff about herbology.  Or herbologists, really.  I bet Helga'd find it interesting -- do you know somebody in Iceland's trained pine trees to dance?"

Rowena sighed heavily.  "No, I did not.  But we're wasting time -- let's just find something to pour that silvery stuff into and take it and the bowl.  We'll work out how it works back home," she said.

"Oh, all right," said Godric, reluctant to be pulled away from the dancing pines.  "But Sindri's going to be really angry when he finds it missing."

"I'm certain he'll deal with it in a mature and adult manner," said Rowena.

"Yes, I'm certain someone who's created undead frogs to kill cities will handle his misfortunes with grace and aplomb," said Godric.

"Well.  We'll just have to run that risk, won't we?" said Rowena.

They poured the silvery stuff off into a bottle, and took it with them, the frogs croaking feebly all the while.  Godric was honestly surprised it had been so easy, but at least now they could relax and enjoy the rest of the visit.

* * *

Helga did not know whose idea it was to go on a jaunt across the countryside that morning, but she was glad to get away from the fortress despite all the trouble of getting in and out of the circle of fire.  They'd had a nice walk around the countryside, and then a little picnic, and it had been a very soothing way to occupy the afternoon.

She knew that most people, in appreciating a place they were visiting, tended to look at architecture, food, quaint and/or terrifying local customs, and any unusual features of the land.  But Helga couldn't help it; her work made it so that the first thing she saw was the placement of the fortress well below the timber line so that they could easily find building materials, but high enough to tire any army that came on foot.  The moat of fire was also a good defense against invaders building siege structures out of wood, although it puzzled Helga that they would have it lit _all_ the time.  It seemed so costly, magically, and surely it had to exhaust Grimhildr no matter _how_ powerful she was.

Still, she knew better than to ask how much trouble it was.  It would look suspicious from any guest, but she particularly didn't want to draw attention to herself.

She was wondering to herself at dinner that night whether it would be worth the trouble to bring the matter up later and try to propose a solution, perhaps in a thank you letter written expressly to Ari and his father, when Rowena poked her in the arm.

"What?" she demanded, sounding a little ruder than she'd meant to.

"What do you mean _what?_" Rowena asked.  "You've been quiet."

"And?" Helga asked.

"You're usually loud," Rowena pointed out.

"I'm just thinking," said Helga.  "Nettles or thorns?  I suppose it all depends on the soil," she added, poking at her fish with her knife. 

"Nettles or thorns _what?_" Rowena asked, frowning.

"To guard this fortress.  The fire is very impractical," said Helga.

"Oh, yes, I know," said Rowena.  "I can't imagine the sort of headaches the people running it get.  Do you suppose that's why Bjornson's guards are all so stupid?"

"Are they?" Helga asked.  "I hadn't noticed."

"I tried to make conversation with them yesterday, but they just sort of stared at me and looked at my hands.  And they weren't guarding anything last night.  I suppose Bjornson's local rivals don't attack much, but it seems _odd_ to leave a fortress undefended.  I dunno, maybe he's using them to keep the flames running," she said.

"Using them _how?_" Helga asked.  "Doing too much magic doesn't make you _stupid_, it makes you exhausted.  And sometimes dead."

"Maybe the mad Sindri's taken the use of their _minds_," said Rowena, pulling a gleeful face and making what Helga supposed she thought were spooky gestures with both hands.

"Rowena, you wouldn't know madness if it was sitting next to you at supper," said Helga, rolling her eyes.  She ate another bite of her fish.  "This is _really_ good," she said.

"Well, Sindri _is_ a necromancer," said Rowena.  "We found these undead frogs he made to spread diseases in rivers and lakes and things," she added.

Helga did not want to think about this.  She put her knife down, having rather lost her appetite.  "Could you possibly find a less appropriate time to talk about the undead?" she asked.

"Sorry," said Rowena, not sounding much upset.  "Just thought you'd be interested.  He's also _really_ into herbology."

"I _bet_," said Helga, darkly.  She knew this was probably not true, but didn't really want to elaborate.

"What do you mean by that?" Rowena asked, cocking her head.

Helga realized it _was_ an odd thing to say.  "Nothing," she said quickly.  "It's an interesting subject, is all."

"You _would_ say that," said Rowena.

"Well, it is!" Helga said.  She cast about for a change of subject, and her eyes rested on Godric, who was sitting next to her.  He seemed to be engaged in an argument with Ari and Hrafn regarding poetic interpretations of the Battle of Maldon.  It was as good a distraction as any.   "Don't you think maybe somebody should change the subject for Godric and the Stigandrsons?"

"Why?" she asked.  "I mean, I don't see why the Stigandrsons would have a problem with it.  _I'm_ not going to get all huffy about the Aeneid.  Some poetry is tragic and beautiful, and some is blatant nonsensical propaganda, and if anyone's tasteless enough to prefer the latter far be it from me to rub their nose in how very wrong they are."

"Yes, but the Trojan War isn't something that only happened ninety years ago," Helga pointed out.  "And we got invaded and they got paid off, so our tragic and beautiful propaganda is obviously a little more tragic and less beautiful."

"But that's _Muggle_ stuff," Rowena insisted.  "They couldn't possibly get worked up about it.  Anyway, you say 'we' and 'us,' but wasn't your dad --"

"I'm _English,_" said Helga, coldly.  Times like these, she wished Mum had named her.

"Right, of course," said Rowena.  She frowned at something.  "Who's that bloke, and why's he pointing at us?"

Helga looked in the direction Rowena had nodded, and suddenly wished the earth would open up and swallow her.  The man talking to Bjornsson had grey hair, and a long, curving scar down one side of his face.  He was waving his hands around angrily and pointing in their direction.  With a sinking feeling, Helga saw that Grimhildr was backing up whatever story he was telling.  She hit Godric in the arm hard enough to get his attention.

"Ow!" he said.  "What's..."  He fell silent as he caught sight of the scene unfolding before them.  "Er.  That's..."

"That's bad," said Rowena.

"That's Sindri," said Helga.

"That's our cue," said Godric.  "We should leave.  Quietly."

"I don't think so," said Hrafn.  Helga turned to look at him just in time to see him point his wand at Godric.  He did not look as though he was fooling around.

"What's going on?  Hrafn, what are you _doing?_" Ari demanded.  "His argument was _stupid_, but it wasn't _that_ bad."

"You'll see," said Hrafn.

"You do realize there's three of us, right?" Godric asked, looking worriedly down at Hrafn's wand.  "I mean, Rowena could disarm you and Helga could, I don't know, bite you.  I'm the least dangerous person here."

"_Bite_ him?" Helga asked.  She had her wand drawn and pointed at Hrafn now, and she was more than a little insulted.

"I don't know!  What do you usually do?" Godric asked.

"Kick people in the ankles," said Helga.  "Agh!"  Someone -- two someones -- grabbed her roughly and dragged her to her feet, snatching her wand from her fingers before she could react.  She saw Bjornson's guards on either side of her.  Godric, who was too big to be bodily hauled away, had a _net _over his head.

"This is no way to treat a guest, Bjornson!" she heard Rowena shout.  "Give me back my wand, you _stupid oafs!_"

Bjornson looked mildly at them.  "Why should I treat a thief as a guest?" he asked.  "That's no way to treat a host."

"GIVE ME BACK MY WAND OR I'LL KILL YOU!" Rowena shouted, sounding rather panicky.  Helga cringed.  Rowena was terrible at negotiations when she didn't have her wand.

"We really don't know what you're getting at," Helga said hopefully.  "We haven't taken anything but what you've offered us.  If there's been some misunderstanding --"

"No misunderstanding," said Bjornson.  "You came here to steal.  Sindri tells me --"

"No, the girl is partly right," said Sindri, speaking for the first time.  "She hasn't taken anything."

"There, you see?" said Godric, sticking a finger through his net hopefully.  "Helga was right.  Big misunderstanding!  We can all go home," he added.

"_You_, however, will likely not be leaving here alive," said Sindri to Godric.  "I think I may just pity you."

"Don't waste your pity on thieves, father," said Grimhildr.  "Or their associates."  She glared at Helga.

"I _really_ don't think we need to go this far," said Helga.  "I mean, er --"

"Release the girl," said Bjornson.  "Take the big one and the ugly one away."

"Did you just call me the ugly one?" Rowena snarled.  "How _dare_ you!"

Helga fell back onto her seat as the guards let go of her.  One of them threw her wand down onto the table, and she snatched it up, ready to fight -- but someone grabbed her wrist.  "Leave it," Ari hissed in her ear.

She looked up at him, startled -- he must have made his way over during the argument.  She pulled her hand away angrily.  "Don't you dare --"

"_No,_" he said firmly.  "Wait."

Helga hesitated -- he was _Rowena's_ friend, and Rowena was being arrested -- and then it was too late, and Godric and Rowena were being marched towards the exit of the long hall.

There was a sudden cry from one of the guards, though, and Godric broke through his net, kicked three of his guards down, and scooped Rowena up before they could react adequately.  He kicked at the nearest wall, and there was a sudden flurry of dust and straw, ruining their supper.  When the dust cleared, there was a more-or-less Godric-sized hole in the wall, and Godric and Rowena were both gone.

"See?" said Ari, brightly.  He and Helga were probably the only people who weren't either causing more damage by rushing through the hole in the wall, or trying to repair the damage while idiots were making it worse.

"I don't understand," said Helga.  "How did he get out of the net?  What did he do?"

"He did what sane men do in fights," said Ari, stooping to pick something metallic up from the floor.  "He cheated."  As he came back up again, she saw that it was a knife.  He examined it for a moment, with apparent satisfaction.  "He must have had some help.  Terrible traitors are among us, Mistress Hufflepuff."  Then he put the knife into a sheath at his belt.  "I can't _imagine_ how he got my knife, though."

An animal roar came from the vicinity of the guards.  Helga looked back, and saw that the ones who Godric had knocked down were just getting to their feet.  They looked very angry, and as she watched, she saw their muscles bunch up, their jaws lengthen, and... and then they...

"God in _Heaven,_" she swore, backing as far away as possible.  She would worry about taking names in vain later.  Right now she was watching three huge bears in shredded uniforms barrel through a hole in a wall, presumably to attack and eat her two best friends.

"Of course, my father cheats too," said Ari, "so I hope our mutual friends continue to be clever.  I think we should leave before the roof caves in, and then you can explain to me why Sindri is making such wild accusations."

"Er.  Yes, I suppose that warrants some explanation," said Helga.  She had thought Ari had been completely in on it, from his little speech about the knife.   Then, if he had been, surely Rowena and he could have got a hold of the bowl without disturbing Sindri so blatantly.

By now, most of the other diners were filing out of the hall in confusion and worry, and though Helga heard snatches of speculation as to what had been stolen and just how mad Sindri was, nobody seemed to be worried about her.  She let Ari walk well in front of her, just in case -- she didn't want to get him into trouble -- and soon lost track of him in the crowd.  She would find him once she got outside, she decided.  And then maybe he could help her hide the evidence of the theft.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.  "Mistress Hufflepuff?  I wondered if we could talk."

"Of course, Ari, I was just --"  She looked up at the man who'd spoken to her; it was Hrafn.  "Oh!  I'm sorry.  You sound like your brother."

"You were just what?" Hrafn asked.

"It's a bit noisy in here," said Helga, brightly.  "Can't hardly hear yourself think.  I was just going to go outside for any talking."

"And meeting Ari there?" he asked.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Helga asked, narrowing her eyes.  "Master Stigandrson, if you are implying that I'm meeting with your brother for -- for _unseemly purposes_ \--"

"Believe me, I would be encouraging you if I thought that you were meeting with him for the unseemly purposes you are pretending to be so outraged about," said Hrafn.  "But I'm not stupid. You are going to try and get your friends out of trouble, and you will try and drag my idiot brother along with you."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Helga.  "If they've stolen something -- which I suppose they _might_ have, they're not very sensible -- I'm sure they'll give it back.  But your Sindri isn't exactly a model of stability and sense, is he?"

Hrafn looked troubled, and a bit sad, as she said this.  "This is not about Sindri, Mistress Hufflepuff.  This is about... about saving my brother, and Rowena.  And I would very much appreciate if you stayed out of it, and left my brother alone."

Ari put his arm around Helga, startling her.  "Oh, don't worry, Hrafn, I think I can defend myself against one little herbologist," he said.

He smiled obnoxiously at her, and she pushed him away, irritated.  Here she was trying to get information out of Hrafn and he was getting all _pally_ with her.  He shouldn't have startled her, anyway -- she had thought he was one of the guards, at first.  "_Defense_ herbologist," she corrected.  "And if you don't mind, I'd like to hear your brother's side of things."

Ari's face fell.  "But --"

"Cheaters never prosper," said Helga.

"A fine saying, if profit is your main concern," said Ari, glaring.  "But I thought you would be more willing to risk that for your best friend."

"Ari, you idiot," snapped Hrafn.  He grabbed his brother by the shoulders.  "This is what's best for Rowena.  Your absurd sympathy for her nonsense is frankly very disturbing."

"What are you even _talking_ about?" Ari demanded.  "Getting her arrested for something she didn't even do is what's best for her?  And my sympathy isn't absurd.  She is a _friend._"

"And what kind of person stands by and watches his friend ruin her life?" Hrafn demanded.  "The fact that she has allied herself with that scheming, lying, manipulative Slytherin is --"

"All highly unworthy qualities in an ally, to be certain," said Helga.  "I have seen him in action, and he's very convincing.  Thank goodness you've arranged to intervene."  She caught Ari's eye, and a sudden expression of understanding crossed his face.  "Very clever of you.  I never managed it."

"Thank you," said Hrafn, sounding gratified.  "I understand you've always been on the right side of things; Rowena always spoke very highly of your good sense."  He glared at Ari.  "Pardon my brother; he has never been very rational about matters of politics."

"I have a younger brother," she said.  "I know how it is."

"Now, wait," said Ari, although he seemed to have lost some of his urgency.  "You are not even --"

"Oh, go clean up or something," said Helga, waving him off.  She wanted to hear the rest of Hrafn's master plan before working out how to best help Rowena.  Maybe she and Ari could meet up elsewhere, but she couldn't think of anywhere particularly safe to mention in conversation with Hrafn there.  "Go do something _useful._  Maybe you had better start packing up poor Rowena's things."

"Yes," said Ari.  "That's a good idea.  Then I can prove to everyone that she hasn't stolen _anything._"  He stalked off.

"Don't worry about him doing that," said Hrafn.  "Your Transfigurator _did_ steal something from Sindri last night."

Helga feigned surprise.  "Well, I would never have expected it of Godric," she said, which was a blatant lie; he'd always been their designated food-stealer when they were little.

"He is a bad influence," said Hrafn.

"I don't think he means to be," said Helga.  "Sindri mentioned he probably wouldn't leave alive.  Is there _any _way to, well, save him?"  Hrafn raised an eyebrow.  "I only ask because, well, Rowena's... _very_ fond of him."  Rowena would have killed her for saying so.  It was true, in the sense that Rowena needed _somebody_ to despise who wouldn't take it personally.  "She'd never forgive herself if she'd got him killed."  Also true -- Rowena could really work herself up into a lather of self-loathing when she wanted to.

"Oh," said Hrafn.  "Well -- well I didn't know it was like _that._"  He pinked a bit.  "Really?  They're... together?"

In the sense that they were probably currently in very close proximity, fleeing from bears and wasting time arguing about magical theory.  "Yes," said Helga.  Hrafn would probably want to soften Rowena up before he made his arguments, and would certainly spring at the chance of generously sparing a friend of hers.

"For a couple, they argue a lot," he pointed out, sounding rather worried.

"I didn't say it was a _healthy_ relationship," said Helga.

"Yes, well, in light of that," said Hrafn, "he is an even worse influence than I had originally realized.  I will not be sorry to see him go.  There is simply no way I can see of him surviving the Aurae," he added.

Helga resisted the urge to grab Hrafn by the shoulders and shout her next words.  "...The Aurae?"  This was very bad.  The Aurae?  The _Aurae?  _She thought she could handle a fortress full of bears and slightly drunken warriors, but probably not the Aurae.  _The Aurae._  How stupid was he?

"Oh yes," said Hrafn.  "Several have been stationed nearby, awaiting the springing of my little trap.  I am told Lady Aeaeae herself may come with them, which is my hope; surely if anyone can talk her out of this nonsense with the Slytherins, it will be her mother."

"Oh!  Oh, er... yes!  Certainly," said Helga.  "You're very wise."

"And I'm _certain_ she would wholeheartedly disapprove of that -- that _peasant _Gryffindor becoming... so involved with Rowena.  Although," he said, "it is at least reassuring.  There were -- there were _rumors_ about you and Rowena."

"Well," said Helga, "there are rumors about anybody who's in the public eye.  ...What sort of rumors?" she asked.

"Ah."  Hrafn looked embarrassed.  "Rumors about... _you and Rowena,_" he repeated.

"Yes, you said that," said Helga, still confused.

"Never mind that," said Hrafn, "they are not relevant.  I was only worried that she might be like my brother, in his -- in his shameful behavior.  But since she does not have such interests, I am reassured."

"You know, I only really know your brother as a duelist," said Helga.  "So I don't really know what you're getting at."

Hrafn sighed.  "It pains me to say this, but Ari is -- he is _womanly._  He is a coward in battle, and he -- once, there was even a cursing pole posted outside his house!"

"I, er, don't know what a cursing pole is," said Helga.

"Well, it is very powerful magic indeed," said Hrafn, "but it only works if the man in question is somehow dishonorable, or unmanly."

"And so it worked, then?" Helga asked.

"Oh yes," said Hrafn.  "It is terrible!"

"If you don't mind my asking," said Helga, "what was the curse?"

"That he would bring shame upon our family, and that he would never be a father," said Hrafn.  "I only hope he will start taking things more seriously.  Perhaps then the curse will break.  We must get him married."

"I... wish you all the luck in the world," said Helga, crossing her fingers behind her back.  "Is that what you want for Rowena, then?"

"Well, she is never going to find another husband the way she has been carrying on lately," said Hrafn, scandalized.

"No, she definitely isn't," said Helga.  She saw a definite ulterior motive here -- one she disliked immensely, whether it came out of hunger for power or merely unrequited love.  "Do _you_ want to marry her, then?"

"No!" said Hrafn, so forcefully that Helga was a little bit insulted on behalf of Rowena.  "No, no.  I mean -- I mean, it would be a very powerful position -- a good marriage.  But she is so _skinny,_" he said.  "And I suspect she would divorce me if I took concubines.  Besides, she has already defiled herself with some -- some giantish commoner."

Helga was already regretting adding that little wrinkle to her story.  It wouldn't help Godric at all -- Lady Aeaeae had no reason at all to spare the life of Rowena's class-inappropriate fling, and she already disliked Godric.  "Well, that makes your motives in helping her terribly selfless," said Helga.  "I'm sorry.  I did doubt you for a moment, but you're right.  This is what's best for Rowena.  And I do hope you straighten your poor brother out.  Now, hadn't I better go ensure that he isn't destroying evidence or anything?"

"Oh!  Very good idea," said Hrafn.  "It hadn't occurred to me that he might.  You'd better hurry."  She turned to leave, and he stopped her.  "I am _very_ grateful that you have seen the sense of my plans," he said.  "And I know Rowena will thank you later."

_I really hope so,_ Helga thought as she hurried back to the guest house.  She hoped Ari had taken her hint; she'd _really_ need some inside help to deal with this.  After all, the Aurae were coming, and she didn't even have a plan yet.

* * *

Rowena watched the angry guards recede into the distance over Godric's shoulder.  "Is there a _reason_ you've decided I'm unable to run on my own?" she asked.

"I run faster," he said.  "Stop shouting in my ear.  Are they catching up?"

"...Actually, they've just turned into bears," she said, squinting.  "I _think_ those are bears."

"They _what?_" Godric asked.  "They can't have.  Your vision's awful."

"I can't help that!" said Rowena.  He sounded tired _already_.  "You're out of practice at running away, aren't you?  We haven't been terrorizing you enough, that's what's wrong with you."

"At least I can see," he said.  "Also, stop breathing on me."

"Stop _breathing_ on you?" she demanded.  "_You're_ the one who's carrying _me_ around like a sack of flour."

"It's _distracting!_  It tickles," he said.  "Now, really, tell me if they're catching up," he added, pausing to catch his breath.

"Not really," said Rowena.  "Well, they're gaining on us now that we've stopped.  But they're still bears."

"They are _not,_" said Godric.  "They're..."  He turned around briefly.  "...They're _bears,_" he said.  He began running again.

"That's exactly what I said!" Rowena pointed out.

"Yes.  Thanks.  Shut up," said Godric.  He put her down abruptly in front of one of the workshops.  "You're heavier than you look.  Let's see if we can distract them," he said, and opened the door of the hut, ducking in.

"They're going to get here soon," said Rowena.

"That's _exactly_ what I want," said Godric, opening the door opposite from the one he'd come in by.  "Let's see how many we can take out."

"Godric!  You aren't planning on _fighting_ them, are you?" Rowena asked.  "You're useless at dueling."

"Yes, but I'm not useless at blowing things up," said Godric, reasonably.  "...Mind, it's usually an accident."

"You'll _kill_ them," Rowena pointed out.

Godric was a little surprised at her shocked tone.  She'd always discussed incidental common deaths due to aristocratic wrangling in such a matter-of-fact tone that he hadn't realized she might object.  "I know," he said, "but you heard what Sindri said.  I'm not getting out of this alive if I don't get out of here soon."

"Oh," said Rowena, with a tone of unhappy understanding.  "I.  Yes.  All right."  Then she stood bolt upright.  "Oh gods, I don't have my wand."  She sounded quite terrified, and he supposed it was different for her, since she was good at magic and rather more physically fragile than he was.

"Oh, you can use mine if you need one," he said.  "I'm a bit useless with it, so --"  He held it out to her, and she grabbed it from his hand.

"Thanks," she said.  She _looked_ reassured, but she sounded rather irritated, and he couldn't see why.

He decided to let it pass.  "Any time," he said.  "After all, you paid for that one.  I suppose it's really yours."

At this she burst into tears.  "_Damn_ it," she said, trying to wipe them away with her hands.

"...Er.  Rowena.  I'm really sorry if I -- er."  She didn't _look_ angry, just upset.  "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No," she said, miserably.  "Don't worry about it."

"All right," he said hesitantly.  "But I'm going to need to borrow that wand again to blow the bears up."

"We need to get my wand back from them," she insisted.

"Can't you just get a new one once we get home?" he asked.

"We need to get my wand back," she repeated.  "Do your magic wandlessly, if you can."

Her tone suggested that she would not hesitate to hurt him if he argued, and he was hesitant to do anything to make her cry again.  "All right," he said.  "But I might need it back temporarily.  You know, for difficult things."

"Right," she said.  She looked very unhappy at this, as though she were steeling herself for some great effort.

"All right," said Godric, taking a deep breath.  "Can you, I don't know, disarm them, and then --"

"They're BEARS," Rowena pointed out.

"Yes, yes, I know, but just to get your wand and then we can set this workshop on fire," said Godric.  He paused.  "Why would they even still be _carrying_ your wand?"

"Look, would you shut up?" Rowena snapped.  "I need _something _to defend myself with."

"Not for running away!" said Godric.  "That's pretty much the _point_ of running away."  He looked out the doorway, and saw that the bears were lumbering ever closer.  "I'm sorry, Rowena, but I really can't see a way for us to fend off all the bears _and_ get your wand back."

"Turn them into rabbits," suggested Rowena.  Hesitantly, she offered the wand, and he took it, trying to will the bears into something smaller.

It wasn't working.  "There's a lot of transfiguration on them already," said Godric.  "I can't even tell if they were originally people or bears or something else."  He lobbed the wand back at her and shut the door to the workshop, quickly moving all the heavy-looking furniture in front of it.  The undead frogs began croaking wildly.  "If you want to try your luck hexing them, be my guest, but I'd rather --"

"Fine.  Yes.  I'll do that."  She walked out through the far door.  Godric couldn't tell if she had a plan or was just mad.  He hoped it was the former.

Should he shut the second door, the one that faced the moat?  Rowena would have no way of getting back in if her insane plan or lack of it failed her.  On the other hand, Godric knew he wasn't safe from the bears if he just left it open.  Should he just sit in here and wait and hope for the best?  He looked around for anything he could use to get them out of this situation, but his panic wasn't helping and these experiments were far beyond him.  He didn't know anything about anything, not really.  Just transfiguration, and transfiguration wasn't helping him here.

Roars from the still-open door told him that he was too late.  He looked to see Rowena enter, pursued by angry bears.  She looked quite pleased with herself even so.  "I got it!" she said, waving her wand around.

Wasting no time, Godric swept her out of the way, pushed the front bear out by the face, slammed the door, and stood in front of it, holding it closed.  He wished it had a good old-fashioned Muggle crossbar, but it didn't.  "How did you get it back?" Godric asked.

"Fireballs!" said Rowena, brightly.  "They're terrified of fire.  I can make illusions of fire really well, so --"

"Basil mentioned that," said Godric.  "Since you keep sending them at _me._"

"Ugh," said Rowena, disgustedly.  "Basil's _no fun_, is he?"

Godric did not dignify this with a response, as it couldn't lead anywhere good.  "What do we do now?" he asked.

"Fuck if I know," said Rowena.  "Didn't you want to blow them up?"

"Well, you were the one who didn't want to kill them," said Godric.  The door moved alarmingly, and he slid to the floor, leaning against it, before the bears could open it.

"_You_ were all for self-preservation," Rowena pointed out, handing him his wand.  "So, go ahead.  Preserve yourself."

"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted, casting a nervous glance towards the door.  "They're going to get through the doors and rip us to shreds."

"We could fight them," said Rowena.

"_You_ could fight them," said Godric.  "I could stand around uselessly while they bite my ankles off."

"Why are they even angry at us, if they're _bears?_" Rowena asked.  "Bears don't care if we stole anything.  Bears just care if they're hungry or you're threatening them."

"Well, do you want to ask them?" he asked.

"No," she said, decisively.  She looked around the workroom.  "You can't do _anything _with this stuff?"

"I don't know what it _is_, half of it," he said.  "You're the clever one, you work something out!"

"I'm the _educated_ one," she said, ill-temperedly. "There's a difference."

"Not much of one," he said, with equal irritation.

"I bet you wish you'd just left me and run," said Rowena, sounding rather dejected.

"Not really," he said.  "I'd probably be in the same situation or worse, only there'd be nobody for me to argue with."

She actually laughed at this.  It was true, sort of -- it was comforting to do something so _normal_ in the midst of this absolutely mad situation.  "Well, we'd better get out of here before anybody more intelligent than the bears comes after us," she said.

"How?" he asked.

"Like you said, blow the place up, distracting the bears.  They're all over there," she said, pointing to the door Godric was holding shut, "so if we unblock the _other _door, run out, and you do whatever you were planning to do once the bears are inside the workshop, it might work.  The only trouble is where we're escaping _to._"

"What about the moat?" Godric asked.

"...The moat," said Rowena, disbelievingly.  "The moat's made of _fire, _Godric."

"Yes!" said Godric.  "But, look, both you and Helga were astonished that _one person_ could keep the flame spells going on that, right?  Wouldn't a giant illusion be a lot more practical than a giant ring of fire?"

"Oh," said Rowena.  "Oh, you're right.  That'd be _much_ easier.  I mean," she added, "if you're wrong, we'll die, but --"

"We'll die anyway," he said.  "Won't it be better to go out in a blaze of, er..."

"Stupid cowardice?" Rowena asked.  "I see your point.  I don't want to go out in a blaze of being ripped up and eaten by bears."

"I don't think that technically qualifies as a blaze," said Godric.

Rowena shrugged.  "So.  Shall we blow up some bears?"

"Unless you've got a better idea," said Godric hopefully.

"Nope," said Rowena.  She waved her wand at the door Godric was in front of.  "You can get up now, it's locked.  I _really_ hope this works."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: The Battle of Maldon, which took place between the Anglo-Saxons and invading Vikings in 991, is discussed in the aptly-titled poem, "The Battle of Maldon." The poem has not one but TWO Godrics in it. Sadly, neither of them is much of a role model.


	22. Chapter 22

When Helga returned to the guest house, Ari was standing inside, looking pensively at the bowl Godric and Rowena had brought back last night.

"This is stolen," he told her, once she'd closed the door.  "This is _Sindri's._  I recognize it.  It does... something with thoughts.  They _actually_ _did_ it.  I thought that it was only --"

"Yes, they did," said Helga.  She took a deep breath.  "I thought you _knew._  Damn it.  I _told_ Rowena she should just --"

Ari looked betrayed.  "I mean, if they _really_ wanted it --"

"Exactly!" said Helga.  She hoped her agreement here would keep him from deciding Rowena and Godric deserved whatever would be done to them.

"Well, I suppose we are just going to have to get them out of this," sighed Ari, "if only so I can yell at her about it."

"Thank you," said Helga, breathing a huge sigh of relief.  He looked at her oddly.  "Really.  Thanks."

"Anyway," said Ari.  "What did my stupid brother tell you?"

"The Aurae are coming," said Helga.

Ari's face went from confusion to alarm.  "Sleipnir's fucking pritchel," he said.  "He called in the Aurae over _this?_  Are they actually coming?"

"I don't know," said Helga.  "I'd like to think they weren't, but it sounds like he planned to get Rowena for _something_ ahead of time and she fortuitously decided to actually steal, because she's ...she's clever like that.  Which means the Aurae were going to come anyway.   Which means Lady Aeaeae's behind it."

"Oh, that's all right," said Ari.  "She's nice, we can negotiate with --"

"No," said Helga.  "She's not."

"...She's not nice?" Ari asked.  "I mean, all right, she _is_ a ruthless tyrant, but what would you expect?"

"All right, granted," said Helga.  "And she _is_ nice.  But I don't think she's going to be too friendly to Rowena and Godric."

"I don't see why not," said Ari.  "I mean, Rowena's her daughter and --"

"What part of ruthless tyrant do you not understand?" Helga asked.  "She's been trying to get Rowena married again for _years._"

"So?" Ari asked.  "Rowena is not going to agree to it.  We both know that.  I had considered asking her, to get my family off _my_ back, but I think she would never -- no."

"The thing is," said Helga, "Rowena doesn't do well without her wand.  I imagine she's mentioned it?"

"...No," said Ari.  "But what has that to do with the price of iron in Reykholt?"

Helga sighed.  "Rowena always carries her wand.  _Always._  When it's taken from her she isn't exactly herself -- she panics, she cries, sometimes she has... fits, depending.  Sometimes she bites."  She felt bad telling Ari all this, because it wasn't really his business, but she had to explain how horrible it would be for Rowena if her mother got a hold of her.  "I think it's because of her marriage to that arse -- he took her wand, you know.  He locked it up for years, and she had no way to defend herself against -- against _anything._  If he wasn't dead," she said, furious once more on Rowena's behalf, "I'd kill him again.  Slowly."

Ari's eyes were wide now.  He nodded.  "And her mother would -- you think she'd use that?"

Helga nodded.  "If she doesn't know yet, she'll find out.  If you had a mad daughter, you'd take her in for a while until she was better, wouldn't you?  And maybe you could get her married off to someone nice and understanding -- on your terms -- who'd keep her safe from herself and others, and keep her wand out of reach.  And of course, he'd have to be someone politically advantageous."

Ari looked horrified.  "You cannot be -- I mean -- but she's just a nice old lady!  Who, yes, happens to be a ruthless tyrant, but Rowena is her daughter!"

"Yeah," said Helga.  "And you'd better be careful your father doesn't get any ideas."

He blanched.  "Right.  What do we do to stop her?  Can you get me out of here too?  I don't --"  He sighed.  "This makes me a coward, I know, but I don't feel safe here.  Not anymore."

"Ari," said Helga.  "I don't really know you.  What I do know about you is that you cheat in duels, you're a practiced liar, and you boast _constantly_.  And, more importantly, you have grown up here with this, if I may say so myself, _terrifying _family who think they can frighten you into doing things their way with the full power of the law behind them, and you're still steadfastly yourself.  And, moreover, you are willing to risk life and limb to help Rowena and Godric.  And only now have you asked for anything at all in return, because you are rightly terrified," said Helga.  "Whatever your faults, you are absolutely not a coward."

He smiled sarcastically.  "But I am a liar and a cheat?"

She dismissed this.  "Useful skills.  Unsportsmanlike, but this isn't sport.  Now, I will definitely see if we can get you the hell out of here.  You and I might have to take up arms, but hopefully Sindri will let us use his workroom.  Plus, I've got some things of my own...."  She started digging through her trunk, pulled her folding shovel from it, and shook it out until it stopped being papery and started being wood and metal.

"Why in the Nine Worlds would Sindri let us use his workroom?" demanded Ari.

"Oh, it's all in who you know," said Helga.  "I know me.  He knows me.  I don't know him, and I don't really want to, but it might have to come to that.  We'll see if he knows himself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Probably that I'm mad," said Helga, distractedly rummaging through her trunk.  "But don't worry, I think I come by it honestly."

She kept hunting for the paraphernalia she knew she'd need -- a bit of unicorn hoof from the animal that'd given the hair in her wand, and an acorn from the oak it was made from.  These had meant the wand had been very expensive, but were also, in her experience, wonderfully useful in dire situations.

"Now," Helga said, putting her spell components into a little bag and resting her shovel on one shoulder.  "Let us go into battle, and pray that the stupid things we do now will be worth it in the end."

Ari took a deep breath.  "I must admit, I have never been very good at this honor thing."

"Don't start now, Ari," she said.  "It'd be very bad timing."

He grinned nervously and opened the door for her.  "After you, then."

* * *

Rowena was rifling through trunks and cabinets for metal.  She'd managed to find a few chains, a ring, and a good amount of tools, and Godric was arranging all of the fragments into a connecting T-shape, with the top line running across the doorway they hoped to lure the bears into.  She understood the principal well enough; transfiguratory magic didn't generally take to metal, it just made the metal heat up.  If they could find enough metal, and maybe if they could pile enough flammable potions ingredients near the doorway, Godric could set the workshop on fire from around a corner, assuming he was willing to put up with the inevitable effects of using far too much magic all at once.  Godric was fairly powerful, though, so he'd probably just have a bad headache.

At least, she hoped so.  He'd better not pass out on her, because Rowena wasn't going to drag him anywhere.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" she asked.  "I mean, we could just run through the fake fire in the moat, and get away."

"Yes, but we can't have a bunch of bears huntingus," said Godric.  "At least it'll reduce their numbers."

"Have we got enough metal?" she asked.

Godric made a few small adjustments to the trail of metal on the floor.  "I think so.  Get ready to unlock that door and run."  He cracked open the other door, peering out.  "All right, it's clear.  And once this place is on fire, we'll run through the fire in the moat.  Let's hope it really is fake."

"Right," said Rowena.  "On four, then?"

"Four's good," said Godric.

"One," said Rowena, bracing herself to run.  "Two."  She raised her wand, pointing it at the far door.  "Three."  Godric, his shoulder to the near door, had his wand at the tip of their trail of metal.  "Four!"

She undid her locking spell, the bears burst in, there was a great flash of light, and Rowena had the wind knocked out of her as Godric grabbed her and fled.

"Ow!" she said.  "Why do you keep doing that?" she demanded.

"Well, you don't run very fast," he said.  He put her down on the other side of the workshop, where most of the bears were still fighting to get in despite the fact that the roof was very clearly aflame.  "There, happy?"

"Yeah," she said.  A few ursine heads turned their way. "...Fuck, they've spotted us.  Run!"

This time, he forgot to grab her, and the both of them ran like idiots into the fire.  Godric got there first, and as Rowena didn't hear any horrible screaming, she decided it was probably safe.  Or, at least, _safer._

But somewhere in the middle of all that perfectly harmless fire, she lost her footing and fell -- further than she ought to have -- until she landed with a _splash!  _The water was deep and cold, and very disorientating.

"You all right?" Godric asked, helping her to the surface of the water, which was much too deep for her to stand in.

"I'm nearly_ drowned_," she said, distastefully, and looked around.  Above them were the illusory flames, but Rowena and Godric had ended up in quite a regular moat.  The water came up to Godric's shoulders, and the walls stretched some ten feet again above that. 

"I suppose it was stupid to think they were defenseless except for illusions and bears," said Godric.  He looked extremely bedraggled and grumpy, and she would've laughed at him had she not known that she, too, probably looked a bit like a drowned rat.

"Well, it's not like we're stuck here," said Rowena cheerfully.  "I mean, we've still got our wands.  And I notice those bears aren't coming in after us."  Holding onto the fabric of Godric's sleeve with one hand, she pointed her wand at the opposite wall.  "_Scaelarum!_" she said.

Nothing happened.

"Wish I'd thought of that," said Godric, grumpily.  "Oh_ wait, _I_ did._"

"What?" Rowena demanded.  "It didn't work.  Why didn't it work?"

"Probably there's something to keep us from using magic in here," said Godric.  "I mean, anyone who works out that the fire's an illusion is probably clever with spells, so this moat's here to trap them.  No point in having a trap people can get out of."

Rowena made a noise of frustration in the back of her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a snarl.  "This is bad.  How are we going to get out?  We can't climb the walls, we can't _fly_, we can't -- we can't get out.  We're trapped."

"Well, maybe you could climb the walls," said Godric.  "Except they're not stone or earth.  They're really smooth --"

"Kept that way with magic, probably," said Rowena.  "This is bad.  This is really very bad."  She tried, unsuccessfully, to fend off the panic of not being able to do magic.  At least she had her wand -- but that wasn't the important thing, as it turned out.  Fuck, this was bad.

"Rowena?" Godric asked.  "Is there something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine!" she said, panic making her voice quaver.  "We're just floating around while the _bears_ chase us, and when they find us they're going to _kill_ you and gods know what'll happen to me, but the best I can hope for is a stern note to my mother."

He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and closed it again.  Finally, he said, "Well.  Maybe it won't be that bad."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't -- I don't do well without magic," said Rowena, trying to calm down.  For some reason she was more frightened now than she had been when she'd been fighting the bears for her wand.  "They're going to _kill_ you, though, they _said_ \--"

"It's fine.  It'll be fine," repeated Godric.  He was not looking at her.

"This is my fault, isn't it?" she said.

"It'll be fine," said Godric again.  "Really, don't worry about it.  Maybe they weren't serious about it!"  He shrugged.  Rowena, losing her grip on his shoulder and trying to keep her head above water, flailed and accidentally kicked him in the ribs.  "Ow!  Sorry," he said, wincing.  He put his arm around her waist.  "If you don't kick me, I can hold you out of the water."

"I'm sorry, I'm fine, really," she said, but she hung onto his arm just the same.  She took a deep breath.  "But, you know, they've got no reason to leave you alive."

"Won't they want to avoid annoying Lord Salazar?" he asked.

Her mind was racing with plenty of unhappy thoughts it wanted to share.  She tried to calm herself down, but it wasn't working -- it was like someone was shouting in her ear, _Rowena, you are a failure!  You are terrible!  Why are you so terrible?  What's _wrong_ with you?_, and she began to feel very ill.  "Lord Salazar?  Why should they worry about him?  They've got my mum on their side," she said.

"That's what I thought," he sighed.  "Oh well.  I wasn't very useful anyway."  He did not actually sound surprised.

"You don't seem particularly upset," she said, envying him this.  Of course, _she_ would have to live with herself after they'd killed him.  He was going to die.  She believed this now, accepted him as a dead man even though she was looking right at him.  She did not want to look at him anymore, so she stared fixedly at her hands and her reflection in the water.  Her breath made ripples in the water, which irritated her, because if she had to look at her own ugly, _stupid_ face she at least wanted the reflection to be smooth.

"I'm not," said Godric, who was still astonishingly calm for a future corpse.  "I sort of assumed I would die doing something really stupid.  This is about right.  I'd like to have lived longer -- things were really good for a while there."

"What, really?" she asked, shakily.  "You never seem all that happy."

"Well, I was," said Godric. "I mean, if I were normal I always thought I'd have a wife and a few kids and a Transfigurator's shop in some little city, and I'd take in apprentices to pay for books and experiments, and maybe my wife'd be good with numbers so she could help with the tricky Arithmantic stuff, or maybe she'd have some other specialty, and we could work together a bit, and we'd publish treatises every few years if we were really clever, and I probably wouldn't become an Animagus, because kids are probably a lot of work, but I'd be really happy.  So getting the books and experiments and apprentices and treatises was pretty good, I mean.  I was just missing the shop and wife and kids -- and I get to teach, so... that's something."

She hazarded a glance at him, and saw that he was staring at the far wall, looking completely gutted despite the cheer in his voice.  All those modest, impossible ambitions, gone forever, she thought.  She didn't really see why they were so impossible to begin with -- Rowena could bet there were a lot of cheerfully boring, mathematically-inclined women who would've gone for somebody like Godric, even as he was, if only he wasn't terrified of people.  Godric was a kind man, at least.  And he was clever.  Plenty of women would've settled for him.  Some might not even have considered it settling.

He pulled one hand out of the water, and looked at it, wrinkling his nose.  "And my fingers are getting all wrinkly.  _Wonderful._"

"I'm sorry," she said finally, hating that he was trying to make _her_ feel better.  She wished she could swim; it seemed awfully hypocritical to be apologizing to Godric for pretty much ruining his life while she was hanging onto his shoulder.

"Don't be," he said.  "Water does that if you're in it long enough."

"I meant about the other stuff," said Rowena.  "Your dull domestic fantasy."

"Oh, that," said Godric, waving his water-wrinkled hand dismissively.  "That was never going to happen anyway.  Like I said.  I don't have a lot of regrets."

"I suppose that's good," said Rowena.  She would have felt more comfortable if he'd had regrets.  She certainly had them.

"There, er.  There is one thing, though," he said.  "And since you're here..."  He went a bit pink, and looked around to make sure nobody was coming to get them yet.  "You know that story you were telling about Odysseus?"

"Yes?" said Rowena, wondering where this was going.

"Does he make it home?"

He had turned toward her as he said it, and she was disarmed by his sincerity.  He wasn't pretending to care -- he actually needed to know.  Apparently dying itself was something he could manage, but he did not want to die in suspense.

"Do you want me to tell you, or do you just want the rest of the story?" she asked.

"Well, I... both," he decided.  "Tell me first, in case they find us before you can finish the story."

"He makes it home," she said.

Godric broke into a wide grin.  His relief was sort of heartbreaking to see.  "Good," he said.  "And Penelope and Telemachus, they're all right in the end?  She's my favorite," he added.

"Yes," said Rowena.  This conversation had become unexpectedly comforting.  "Do you want the story now?"

"If you remember it," he said, as if it might be too much to ask.  "If not, I don't _need_ to--"

"Trust me, Godric, I'll always remember this one," she said.

* * *

When Helga stepped out of the guest house, the first thing she noticed was the acrid scent of unplanned explosions.  Then there was the smoke.  Then there was the fact that the smoke was coming from a burnt smudge of wood that had been where Sindri's workshop had previously sat.

"Oh, this is bad," said Helga under her breath.

Two figures, recognizable as Sindri and Grimhildr, were slowly walking around the smoking hut.  They appeared to be arguing.  There were no bears about that she could see, only the tellingly-identical guards that had become bears earlier.  "Well, come on," she said, motioning for Ari to follow her.  "There's nothing for it but to see what we can do with what we have."

"So you are not going through with your mad Sindri plan?" Ari asked.  He looked extremely relieved.

"Oh, no, he's my in," she said.  "We have to go through with that.  But we won't be using _his_ things, personally. Maybe he'll be more willing to lend out somebody else's workshop."

"I find that difficult to believe," said Ari.  "And I think I know the man better than you."

"Oh yes, no doubt you do," said Helga.  "But I'm going to need _some_ help here."

"Yes, but --"  Ari seemed to be at a loss for words as Helga walked towards the ruined workshop.

She _was_ frightened, but she knew from long experience with these sorts of people that fear was apt to ruin a good negotiation.  Besides which, while it was not strictly in accordance with her plan, the fact that Sindri's workshop had been destroyed gave him very little power in this situation, so if things went very badly the only thing he could really do to her was turn her over to the proper authorities.  A fate worse than death was out of the question, and that was a great comfort.

"What do _you_ two want?" demanded Grimhildr as soon as they were in earshot.

"I was wondering if I could borrow some of your tools," said Helga, "only I can see that might be sort of problematic just about now.  Did you leave a fire going?"  She forced herself to look Sindri in the eye.  He was much older than she remembered him -- unsurprising, really -- and was pointedly ignoring her.

Grimhildr spoke again.  "It was your stupid friends who blew our workshop up," she said.  "Why should we help you?  And what are _you_ doing helping _her?_" Grimhildr demanded of Ari.

Helga was beginning to get annoyed.  "Look, I'd just like a chance to speak to Master, er.  ...what's your surname?  I don't even know," she asked Sindri.  Although it mattered very little right now, this was one of the more irritating things about the whole situation.

Sindri seemed taken aback by this question, but Grimhildr stepped in to answer it for him.  "I don't see how it's any of your business," she said nastily.  She really was painfully young, Helga thought.  Helga felt a bit bad about her plan, but she'd come this far, and she had plenty of reasons to be angry with Sindri, if not with Grimhildr.

"Really, Grimhildr, you are very rude to our guest," said Ari.  "Downright dishonorable."  He grinned like a predator, and did not seem at all surprised when Grimhildr swiped at him with her staff.

"Ignorant leech!" she snarled, advancing on him.  "You question _my_ honor?"

He backed away from her slowly.  "Well, I am one to talk.  But really -- a leech?  Me?  How can I be anywhere as spineless as you?"  He drew his wand, and grinned, not kindly.  "Want to fight over it?"

"What are you doing?" she demanded, looking suspiciously at him.  "What are you trying to trick me into do--"

"_Confringo!_"

Grimhildr jumped to the side.  There was a large patch of scorched earth where she'd been standing.  "Fenrir _take_ your cowardly Latin magic," she snarled.  "_Skera!_"  The spell shot out of her staff, but Ari jumped back.  Cuts appeared in his robes, appearing to just graze him.

"Grimhildr," Sindri shouted, "stop this nonsense at once!" 

Helga wanted to agree, to stand between them, or at least to grab Ari and tell him off, but she resisted the urge, because this was her chance.  "Oh no," said Helga.  "I think it's time we had a chance to talk, Master Sindri.  If you won't give me your surname," she added.

He looked sharply at her.  "That's my daughter!" he said.  "She could get _hurt!_"  The delicate flower in question seemed to be clobbering Ari with her the blunt end of her spear, shouting all manner of insults.

"I'm well aware," said Helga.  She smiled as Ari twisted the spear out of her hands and menaced her with it, then grinned even wider as Grimhildr managed to hold her own by throwing rocks at Ari's head until he dropped the spear.  "But can we just put that aside for now and talk like civilized people?"

Sindri winced.  "Look, if this is about your --"

"This isn't about my anything!" snapped Helga.  "All I wanted to do was to borrow your equipment."

"My equipment's _gone_," said Sindri.  "And why should I want to help _you?_  You'll just betray us to your friends."

"Why don't you just run away from here, then?" Helga snapped.  "That worked plenty well for you before, didn't it?"

"Do you think I _want_ to be here?"  Sindri ran a hand through his thinning hair.  "I'm... I just want to be -- I don't know."

"What's keeping you here?" Helga demanded.

That seemed to make him angry.  "If you're just going to be hysterical and ridiculous --"

"Oh, no, I want to know," said Helga, with as much sweetness and venom as she could manage.  "Maybe I can _help_," she added.  "Did you even think of asking for help?"

There was a long silence.  They watched as Grimhildr landed a few hits soundly on Ari's head.  He seemed to be having fun, though -- he had somehow acquired a broadsword, and was good-naturedly menacing Grimhildr with it.

"Well?" Helga asked.  "Did you --"

"That would have been unfair," said Sindri.  He did not look at her.

"You mean, less fair than when you disappeared, _apparently_ forever, and we all thought you might be dead, only actually, you'd just got a wife and daughter?" said Helga.

"Three daughters and no wife," he said.  "Hjordis didn't... we aren't..."

"Oh, so you wouldn't marry her _either_, then?" Helga asked.

"I divorced her," said Sindri, shortly.

"Oh, that makes it _much_ better!" said Helga.  "You're so reliably unreliable."

"She sliced my face open," he said, indicating the long scar on his face.  "She wasn't -- she wasn't like your mother --"

"Who, incidentally, still thinks you're _dead_," said Helga.  "Because you never came back!  And you have _no idea what Leo and I went through_, do you?"

"By the time I was back on my feet it was far too late," he said.  "I was already hearing about your work.  And you're -- you're doing so well.  I mean, you didn't need me.  I was... I'm very proud of you," he said, as though this was supposed to make her happy.

Instead, something inside of Helga snapped.  "You don't _get_ to be proud of me!" she shouted in his face.  "_I _ get to be proud of me, and _Mum_ gets to be proud of me, and even _Leo_, worthless as he is, _he_ gets to be proud of me a little, because he taught me how to cheat at cards and how to throw a punch.  But _you?_  You do _not ever_ get to be proud of me.  I am not yours to be proud of."

"I was _kidnapped_," said Sindri, as if this excused everything.

"Yeah," said Helga.  "I bet.  Kidnapped.  For over twenty years.  And now you're in charge of your captors' security systems, and apparently you have the resources to _stalk_ your illegitimate daughter who, by the way, doesn't even _live_ near you and _by the way those seeds were PROPERIETARY SO HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THEM?_"

Helga became aware of two things.  The first was that Ari and Grimhildr had actually stopped fighting and were staring at them.  The other, much worse thing was that her face was wet.  She looked from Ari and Grimhildr to her father, made a loud noise of rage and frustration, and took a deep breath which turned out, actually, to be more of an anticlimactic sniffle.  "Forget it!  I don't even _want_ your help!  You've never helped me in your _life!_"  She turned and walked away, grabbing Ari's arm and dragged him away.  "Come on."

"But..."  Ari seemed very put out.  "But I was _winning!_"

"Arnhvatr Stigandrson, you _mangy wet dog_, get back here and fight me!" shouted Grimhildr, stomping after him.  "Or I'll cudgel you around the -- hrk!"

Helga had grabbed her by the front of her collar.  "You're the only reason he's not dead," she snarled.  "Because there's a chance you might actually be a worthwhile human being.  Despite that very small chance, I am in _no_ mood to deal with you, so _shut up_ and _leave us alone._"

Grimhildr had gone wide-eyed and pale and, mercifully, silent.  When Helga released her, she backed off, and, in case this was not enough, set her spear down on the ground carefully.

"Good," said Helga, grumpily.  "Come on, Ari," she said, "you've probably got to fight some more people."

"...Yes.  Yes, I.  Are you all right?" he asked her.  He was bleeding in several places, she noticed.  It wasn't really her problem, though.

"Do I _look_ all right?" she demanded.

"...what about the things we will need?"

"We'll have to find it somewhere else," said Helga.  "We'll probably have to fight for it."  She hefted her shovel.

"Not that that sounds unpleasant," said Ari, "but I think your diplomacy needs some work."

"Usually I'm much better about this sort of thing," she said, wiping her face on her sleeve and trying not to sniff.

"Helga!" called Sindri.

Ari sighed heavily as Helga turned.  "_What?_" she demanded.

"What do you need?" Sindri asked.

Her pride, anger, and desire to hit people with a shovel wrestled with her idea of what her life would be like without Rowena and Godric.  It was not a long fight.  She sighed, and walked back towards them.  "A container -- clean, not leaky, about the size of my hands together.  Enough sap from the most common sort of tree around here to fill it halfway.  A source of magic other than me."

"That won't be a problem," said Sindri.

Grimhildr glared at him.  "_What?_  No!"

"We have a bowl, the turpentine can be stolen, and then there is you," said Sindri.

"And then there is me," she said.  "We hardly even _know_ her.  Whatever she is planning will destroy Bjornarbitholm --"

"And then we can leave this place," said Sindri.

Grimhildr did not look sold on the idea.   "And then _you_ can leave.  _I_ will be stuck powering the spell, whatever it is."  She looked expectantly at Helga.

"...Well.  Um.  There's no reason it can't be portable," Helga ventured.  "Really, it's just meant to be a distraction --"

"You need a separate source to power a spell that's _only a distraction?_" Sindri asked.  "Who are you planning on distracting, the whole mountain?"

Helga sighed.  She didn't think Sindri and Grimhildr, family or not, and no matter how little they liked Bjornson, would be willing to go up against the _Aurae Aurelii_, so she decided not to mention that.  "Well, I like to be thorough," she said.  "You are, no doubt, aware that I have a record of not dying in these sort of things."

"Well, _obviously_," said Grimhildr.  "We aren't stupid.  You _are_ standing right in front of us."

"What I mean to say is," she said, "if I do this I can protect both of you and convey you safely out for a good distance.  If you want to go, I mean."  She looked at Grimhildr.  "Personally, I'd take the chance to leave.  Get away from _him_," she said.

Sindri raised an eyebrow.  "I thought you were all upset about that sort of thing."

"Grimhildr isn't as young as I was," said Helga.

"Why is everybody talking over my head?" Grimhildr demanded.

"It's just so _easy_," Ari told her.  Helga kicked him in the shin for Grimhildr.  "Ow!" said Ari.  "What was that for?"

"The short joke," said Helga.  "It's such a lazy insult.  You can do better, Ari."

"Thank you," said Grimhildr, reluctantly.  "You are... going to help us, then?"

"You're family," sighed Helga.  "So I suppose I haven't much choice.  Anyway, I'm taking Ari --"

"What?" Grimhildr asked, dismayed.

"--so it would be sort of cruel to leave you lot behind.  Although, frankly, also slightly poetic.  But you probably don't deserve that," she told Grimhildr.  "Seriously.  After this, get away from being the source of someone else's magic for a while.  It'll be good for you."  She looked around at everyone.  "So.  Are we all for escape, then?"

"...Fine," said Grimhildr.  "Yes.  I'm in."

"Good!  Pity I won't get to use the shovel, though," said Helga.

"...Were you planning on doing a lot of digging if we did not agree?" Grimhildr asked.

Helga grinned dangerously.  "You have much to learn in the ways of the world, Grimhildr," she said.  "But I think you'll _enjoy_ it.  Take your spear in case of bears, all right?"

 


	23. Chapter 23

Helga did not sleep that night.  Sindri had convinced one of his associates that he needed the space in order to experiment with his plague-carrying undead frogs.  (In reality, the frogs seemed not to have survived the blast, which Helga was glad about.  Her father was not nearly so pleased.)  Ari, meanwhile, was busy puppeteering an illusory version of Helga, which he led about like a distrusted guest and occasionally had very misleading conversations with.  This had been Grimhildr's idea, in order to keep Bjornson from realizing she was busy elsewhere.  Helga was worried about when Hrafn would notice the difference between her and the illusion, and it kept her working quickly.

She finished her work either very late at night or very early in the morning, although it was difficult for her to tell exactly what time it was, since the sun rose too early and set too late here in the North.  It must be late, though, because when she poked her head out, nobody was stirring.

"Grimhildr," whispered Helga, nudging the girl.  She had fallen asleep sitting up on a bench against the wall, and she made a thoroughly snarly sound when she realized she was being asked to wake up.

"Not interested," she muttered, crossed her arms, and went back to sleep.

"Oh come on, I haven't even told you what I want you to do!" said Helga.

"Stop being so _loud,_" she muttered.  "I have sleep to do."

"I just need your help in testing this," said Helga.  "I can't go down the mountain and check on it or they'll get me."

"No hiking," muttered Grimhildr.

Helga sighed.  "You've forced my hand, Grimhildr."  She waved her wand, and the bench unceremoniously dumped Grimhildr into a heap on the floor.

"Ow," she whined.  "_What?_"

"I need you to see if the trees come when I call them," said Helga.  She took Grimhildr by the shoulders and propped her up against the wall.  "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Grimhildr looked grumpy, tired, and decidedly unconvinced.  "_Fine._"

* * *

Grimhildr plodded sullenly out of the cabin and towards one of the four bridges over the moat.  She had never really got on with anybody in her family -- Myrgjol and Eydis, her sisters, were irritating know-it-alls at best, and Mother had no time for anything but her work.  Father... well, she had thought things would be better if she lived with him, but he merely found Grimhildr _useful_.  Which was, admittedly, a step up.

Nevertheless, it appeared that this clearly-insane half-sister who appeared out of nowhere from _England_, of all places, was not going to be an exception.  So far she was bossy, patronizing, foolhardy, and utterly focused on rescuing her idiot friends.  Also, she could pass for human on exactly no sleep, which Grimhildr thought was unnatural and suspect.

Still, maybe they could go somewhere nice when she and Father got out of here. Odds were Father wouldn't want to go anywhere nice, so she'd have to go on her own, but Grimhildr could take care of herself, probably, even though that sounded absolutely terrifying, so maybe she could just get lost in the ensuing chaos.  She nodded a tired hello to the berserker guarding the gate, and handed him an apple.  Bjornson's berserkers were immune to monetary bribery and prone to flying into a bear-rage at the terribly confusing idea of _counting_, but they liked sweet things.

"I'll just be a few minutes," she told the berserker.  "Just don't tell anyone, all right?"

"Apple!  Yes!" said the berserker gleefully.  Then he looked at her sadly.  "Apple _more._"

"I'll get you another one when I get back," she sighed.

"Good more yes apple lady food," said the berserker agreeably.  "Apple, apple, apple!"  He began to eat the apple messily, and Grimhildr hurried away towards the trees.  'Apple' didn't even sound like a _real word_ anymore.

Crouching to get a better look at the roots of the biggest tree nearby, she put her hand on the trunk and was rewarded with the definite feeling of... energy?  Motion?  Interest?  She couldn't quite describe it, but whatever it was, this tree was being drawn towards the fortress.

It made her much more nervous than she had been -- not that she loved Bjornson and his allies, but she was betraying her father's patron as much as she was betraying her father's captor, and now it felt, well, _permanent._

She felt a sudden breeze behind her and heard the crunch of shoes on forest ground.  Startled, she turned to see a person -- a woman in warrior's clothes, wearing a sword and holding ...something in midair.  A bridle?

Grimhildr realized it was one of the Aurae Aurelii -- no other sort of woman would dare show her ankles so wantonly, and nobody sane rode thestrals.  Plus, there was the uniform, but anyone could have worn armor and clothes she'd bought or stolen.  "Aurelia?" she said cautiously.  Her father had always warned her not to startle armed men.  (Or women, Grimhildr supposed.)

The woman turned to look at her.  Grimhildr could hear the invisible horse at her side.  "Aurelia Sheffield, yes," said the woman.

Before she could say anything more, Grimhildr blurted "Oh!  You're Cliodna Sheffield!  Can I ask if --"

"No," said the Aura.  "I have been riding all night and I'm in no mood.  Please accept my apologies.  Have you --"  A long yawn cut her off.  "Have you seen two idiots in uniform?" she asked.

"...No," said Grimhildr.  "Are they lost?  You can stay at Bjornarbitholm --"

Aurelia Sheffield laughed sharply.  "Yes, I'm aware.  We were sent here."

Grimhildr's bubbly astonishment at meeting someone _famous_ faded into a nauseous terror.  She was probably here to contain the visiting thieves -- to hunt them down or something, as Grimhildr didn't think they'd been found yet.  She was the Enemy.  "Oh.  Oh, of course," she said, trying not to sound terrified.

"Of course," said Sheffield.  "Something wrong?"

"No," said Grimhildr, too forcefully.

"Right," said Sheffield.  "Well, anything you can tell me about the mess would be nice -- and additionally, if you could help me track down those idiots --"

"They haven't been found, I don't think," said Grimhildr.

"_My_ idiots?  I should think not, I'd have known," said Sheffield.  "They answer to Grummond and Vaurien, and if you can see thestrals -- no?  Well, all right then," she said.  "Fill me in, and maybe I can answer your questions."

"Fill you in on what?" Grimhildr asked.

Aurelia Sheffield looked faintly annoyed.  "Whatever fool's errand the Council's sent me on this time.  I understand they were Slytherin's spies?"

She didn't like this -- being helpful while working against an _Aura -- _three Aurae, if the other two ever turned up, and one of them was _Cliodna_ _Sheffield_.  She didn't understand why Sheffield couldn't see right through her, though.  Still, Grimhildr could see no way out of it.  "Thieves," said Grimhildr.  "They took... something of my father's, I don't know what it does," she said.  "It was Lady Ravenclaw and some transfigurator -- not human, he --"

"Oh, he's human all right," said Sheffield, sighing.  "God _damn_ it.  I wondered why she'd pulled me out of a siege just to --"  She cut herself off, looking at Grimhildr.  "What?"

Grimhildr realized she was staring.  "I've just never seen an Aura before.  Is it true you defeated the forces of Koschei the Deathless all by yourself?"

"No, Alfhild was there too," said Sheffield, dismissively.  "And there was this hag with a flying mortar, but mostly she got in the way.  Anyway, he's still _alive,_ so it isn't as though we accomplished anything.  Bloody Horcruxes."  This subject appeared to have made her grumpy, and Grimhildr was sorry she'd asked.

"Well, it's really impressive," Grimhildr said.  "I'm Grimhildr Sindrisdattir, did I mention?"

"No," said Sheffield, who looked as though she'd rather not know.  She started off in the direction of  Bjornarbitholm, leading the invisible thestral along.

"Well, that is who I am," said Grimhildr.  It occurred to her, suddenly, that she could tell Aurelia Sheffield about her father's stupid escape plan and Helga's trees and Ari's... general Ariness.  It might even be enough to impress her with Grimhildr's honesty and resourcefulness.  "Can I tell you someth--"

"Look," said Sheffield, "I've heard basically everything from starstruck kids over the past few years.  Yes, we can always use more Auras, no, I do not have godlike powers, no, you cannot be my personal apprentice, yes, you will still have to defeat one of us in single combat no matter how sterling your other skills are, no, I will not fight someone specifically for you, no, I will not help you impress whoever you fancy, no, I am not interested if, Lord help you, I _am_ whoever you fancy, and yes, I am exactly as wonderful and/or despicable as the rumors have it.  That about cover it?"

Well, if she wasn't going to listen, Grimhildr wasn't going to shout.  "Yes, I suppose it does," she said.  

"Good," said Sheffield.  "Wait!  Stop!" she hissed, putting out a hand to keep Grimhildr from walking any further.  Grimhildr frowned at her -- but, listening, she could hear talking.

"-- so then I tell her, I say, 'if you don't give me back my dolly I'm going to bite you!' and she just laughs in my face!" a woman was saying.  "And she had horrible breath."

"Terrible," said a man, not sounding very sincere.  "She sounds very dangerous."

"I'm just saying, I know how she is!" said the woman.  "Wrong in the head.  _Evil._"

"You were _five,_" said the man.

Sheffield sighed.  "Sounds like we've found them.  Hold this, would you?"  She handed Grimhildr the bridle and stomped off through the trees to find the voices.

Grimhildr looked at the empty air the bridle appeared to be attached to.  She'd heard people who could see thestrals had bad luck, so she supposed this ought to be encouraging, but it was incredibly unnerving to be able to feel the horse's breath and hear it, but not see its face or ears.  What if it bit her?

She overheard Sheffield shouting at the other two Aurae, and saw them approach through the trees.  One was an irritated-looking woman with reddish-brown hair cut short like Sheffield's, and the other was a short, skinny man who was cheerfully making excuses to Sheffield -- at least, until she turned to him and shouted "Goronwy, shut _up!_" into his ear.

Goronwy shut up, but only for a moment.  "I'm just _saying_," he whined, and then started up again.

"You could use Silencio," said the other woman.  "I did that on the way here."

"Oh, Maelys, that's because you're a terrible sport," he tsked.  "Oh!"  His face lit up.  "Clio!  You made a _friend!_"  Grimhildr realized he was looking at _her_, and suspected she was going to be the butt of some joke.  She braced herself.  "Congratulations!"

"Or I could just hit him," said Sheffield contemplatively.  "This job calls for tough decisions."

"Might want to shut up, Grummond," said the other woman.

"You going to introduce us?" he asked.

Sheffield rolled her eyes, but Grimhildr supposed she might as well give them her name; it'd look suspicious otherwise.  "Grimhildr Sindrisdattir," she told him.

At this he laughed.  "We should get married!  Then you'd be Grimhildr Grummond."

Something in Grimhildr snapped then; she'd had enough of being treated like nobody for _years_, and she was _so tired_, and somehow this joke proposal was the final straw.  She dropped the thestral's reins, kneed Grummond in the groin, and stomped off, trying not to cry.

"OW!  That's assaulting an officer of the law!" he shouted after her.

"I've always wanted to do that," said the other woman, Maelys.  She sounded a bit jealous.  "Can we buy her drinks?"

"If you've got the money," said Sheffield.

"Pfft, I'm not spending _my_ money on some common brat, haven't we got an allowance for just in case?"

"Just in case someone _hits_ me?" Grummond whined.

"Wait, does that count as defeat in single combat?" Maelys asked.  "Is she one of us now?"

"If she is, so are a lot of other people," said Clio.  "...Actually, that would really help with recruitment.  I should run it by Lady A.  I bet she'd laugh."

"Probably," said Grummond, bitterly.  "It involves pain."

Their voices faded as she reached the fortress.  Grimhildr sniffed once, wiped her eyes, and put on a bored face before returning to Helga's makeshift workshop.  She supposed she'd have to tell her about the Aurae now.

* * *

While Goronwy was nursing his wounded pride -- and assorted other wounded bits -- Clio took a moment to look back where they'd come from.  She'd landed out here because she'd mistaken the blonde girl by the tree for Hufflepuff, but even if she wasn't, they'd still better keep a lookout for oddities involving plants.  "Maelys, go back that way a bit," she said, pointing.  "See that really huge tree?  Examine it and see if you can find anything odd about it.  Report back to me in town.  Well, such as it is."

"I'm interrogating a _tree?_  What do I look like, a forester?" Maelys asked.

"What you look like is someone who's sworn to follow orders," said Clio, pointedly.  "I think it's the uniform."

"_Fine_," huffed Maelys.  She trudged away.

"God, she's a bitch," said Goronwy.

Privately, she agreed about Maelys, but Goronwy said that about most women who weren't prostitutes, saints, or nobles, so Clio wasn't about to agree with him.  "They say the same about me," she said.  "I try to take it as a compliment."

Goronwy looked at her for a moment, as if he was trying to work out whether she was serious or not.  Finally, he said, flatly, "Don't."

That made her smile.  She and Goronwy hadn't got on for _years._  "So, tell me what you've got on our three thieves," she said.

"Two," corrected Goronwy.  "Hufflepuff's not inv--"

"Hufflepuff's not involved _yet_," said Clio.  "This was set a month in advance.  The lady in charge knew something was going to happen.  And when her idiot daughter gets involved in some trouble, Hufflepuff usually gets sucked into it somehow."

"Fair enough," said Goronwy.  "Ravenclaw was buying a lot of books, but that's nothing new -- I mean, she's been on the List of Interesting Readers since she joined up with Slytherin, and she always gets completely bizarre things, but nothing actually _dangerous_.  I think her mum just likes to know what she gets up to."

"All right.  And the rest?" she prompted him.

"Hufflepuff's got the usual stuff going on too -- she's... scarier.  I mean, she's been on the list since it was created --"

"Really?" Clio asked.  "I thought Lady A. had a soft spot for her."

"She was the first one on it," said Goronwy.  "I think she owes Lady Aeaeae something big, and Lady A. wants to be able to collect when the time comes.  Anyway, the books are uniformly scary --"

"What are they about?" Clio asked.

"Gardening, mostly.  Trust me on this," said Goronwy.  "The titles look innocuous enough alone, but..."  He shuddered.  "So she's definitely going to be an issue if she gets involved."

"Which she will," said Clio.  "Anything else?"

He looked down at his notes and smirked.  "Well, your _lover_ is --"

"He's not my lover," snapped Clio, who was annoyed that gossip about the Godric Incident had got around to him.

Goronwy snorted.  "Fine, then, your _secret monster husband_ \--"

She swiped the parchment from him.  "All I'm trying to do is apprehend two thieves, recover the stolen property, and then do whatever bullshit our employer thinks is necessary to manage the situation.  If _I_ can be professional about this, maybe you could."

"Whatever you say, Aurelia," said Goronwy.  She dearly wished she could just stab him sometimes.  "You've got my notes."

She glared, then looked at the books Godric had been purchasing and borrowing from others' libraries.  They didn't really _seem_ like Godric's sort of thing.  "...This isn't _Godric's_," she said.  "You've got him mixed up with some other theorist.  He does Transfiguration."

"He does," agreed Goronwy.  "There's some stuff on Animagi there -- all rubbish -- and a bit of alchemy philosobabble about why you can't transfigure metals --"

"But half of this is Imperius stuff!" Clio said.

"I know!" said Goronwy.  "More books for me to read and ban.  Isn't it brilliant?"

Clio glared at him.

"What can I say?" he said.  "I like my job."

"And I actually do mine," said Clio.  She gave his notes back, practically throwing them at him.  "This isn't Godric.  Go back and double-check when you have a chance."

"I always do that," said Goronwy.  "And while it's very sweet that you think you know him _so_ well after -- how long has it been?  Before you met me, I would _hope._  But are you sure he didn't _do_ anything to your mind when you --"

"_Silencio!_" Clio snapped.  "I'll keep your theories in mind.  Thanks for the briefing."

Goronwy glared at her, throwing his hands up exaggeratedly as if to demand an explanation.

She smiled.  "You can talk again once you've convince Maelys to take the spell off you.  Might want to get started."  She nodded at the path Maelys had taken into the forest, and watched with great satisfaction as he trudged off.

* * *

"Well?" Helga asked, as soon as Grimhildr opened the door.  She looked surprisingly un-sullen, and Helga wondered if her insistence that It Would Be _Fun!_ had somehow actually turned out to be true.

Grimhildr shut the door quickly, then locked it.  "The _Aurae_ are here!" she said.

"What, already?" Helga asked.  "Bit early, isn't it?"

"All that happened was your stupid friends stole from my father," said Grimhildr.  "And they did not even steal _much_, and well, what they did steal was hardly _dangerous._  I mean, they could've taken the plague-frogs.  _Why are the Aurae here?_"

"Oh, this was all a set-up from the start," said Helga.   "Hrafn told me his entire evil plan."  She shook her head.  "He has a lot to learn."

"You _knew_ they were coming?" Grimhildr asked.  "But we cannot possibly --"

"That's a very dangerous phrase," said Helga.  "It gives me ideas."

"But we never agreed to this!  Getting out of here is one thing, but the _Aurae?_" said Grimhildr.

"If I knew about this beforehand," said Helga, "don't you think maybe I might've fit it in _somewhere_ in all that work we did last night?"

Grimhildr frowned.  "But you were doing something with trees.  I mean -- there was a recognition spell in it somewhere, and I thought --"  She looked at the apparatus Helga had set up; the acorn and the unicorn hair were suspended in a thick glob of tree sap, which, if the spell was working properly, should be transmuted into a drop of amber by midday today.  "I thought it was to make the trees let you through but not the berserkers."

"Oh, no," said Helga.  "In fact, if we can find out where Rowena and Godric are hiding, and if they manage not to get themselves killed before midday, I think we all stand quite a good chance of getting out of this alive, in one piece, and in my own case, very, very smug.  I have to say I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

Godric had drifted in and out of sleep that night, leaning against the wall of the moat.  He had had enough presence of mind to keep a hold of Rowena, who had fallen asleep before him, but his sleeping self had only worried about keeping her above water, not preventing any potential awkwardness that might ensue, so when he finally awoke all the way on what he presumed to be the next morning, Rowena had her arms around his neck and was snoring, which he didn't think she would like _at all_ when she woke up.

He was about to poke her shoulder in the hopes of perhaps waking her up, or at least dislodging her from his neck, but the sound of several people talking above them made him reconsider.

"...bears found them last night, but we thought we'd leave them there until you got here."  This voice was definitely a Norseman -- he thought it was Hrafn.

"Thank you.  But, why exactly did you need the Aurae, again?  Looks like you caught them yourselves," said a man he didn't recognize at all.  He sounded Welsh.  _Aurae?_  Godric tried not to panic, but failed miserably.

"Well, Lady Aeaeae said she'd send you," said  Hrafn.  "Besides, she didn't really trust us to keep Rowena for very long."

"Aah.  Yes," said the unknown Welshman.  "I've heard all _sorts_ of things about that one."

"Oh, she's not that bad," said Hrafn, as if he had doubts about this.

"You're the second person I've ever met who likes her, then," said the man.  "First one was her mother, and I think even she was lying.  Her lips were moving, at any rate.  You know how it is."

Godric felt Rowena clamber away from him, which was a bit of a relief.  He looked down and saw that she was terrified.  _Aurae?_ she mouthed, pointing up at the illusory flames above them.

He nodded, and made a what-do-we-_do?_ sort of shrug.

_How the fuck should I know?_ was Rowena's mouthed response.  Then, _You go that way!  I'll go..._  She hesitated, looking in the opposite direction.  _Never mind, I can't swim._

_Fight them?_ he mouthed at her, making fists.

Rowena put one hand over her mouth, barely stifling a laugh.  When she recovered, she mouthed, _You?  No way._

He glared at her, but he couldn't think of any good alternatives, so he stayed metaphorically silent as well as literally so, until something heavy hit the top of his head, at which point he said "Ow!" and looked up.

The flames had been rolled back to reveal the light of day.  Hrafn Stigandrson, and the unfamilliar Aura -- a short, skinny man with dark hair -- were standing over them and watching.  They had lowered a ladder, which was apparently what Godric had been hit by.  It was simultaneously heavy enough to have hurt, and completely tiny from his perspective, and Godric just looked at it with a mixture of dismay and annoyance.  It just _figured _that their captors would give him a way of getting out that he wasn't actually capable of.  "You have _got_ to be joking."

"Come on up, both of you," said the Aura Aurelius cheerfully.  "I've heard _so_ much about you!  Now, where are your wands?"

"They don't work down here anyway," shouted Rowena.

"Yes, but they work up here," said the Aura.  "Do I look stupid to you?  Come on, get up here and give me your wand."

Rowena and Godric exchanged glum looks, and she clambered up the ladder.  As soon as she had made it to the top, the Aura took her wand with a Disarming Hex.  He helped her up, shaking her hand.  "It's _so_ lovely to meet you!  I'm Goronwy Grummond."

"Fuck off," said Rowena, sullenly.

"Well, aren't we friendly?" said Grummond, conversationally. 

She made no further attempt to fight as Hrafn bound her wrists behind her back.  "This is for your own good, you know," said Hrafn.

"Now you," said Grummond to Godric.

Godric looked doubtfully at the ladder.  "No," he said, flatly.  "This ladder is made of _toothpicks.  _Toothpicks for ants."

Grummond crouched down by the edge of the moat, pointing his wand at Godric.  "I'm going to have to insist, Gryffindor.  It's even charmed specially for you!  Clio told me about your condition, you see."

"But magic doesn't work down here," Godric pointed out.  "I don't trust it."  He glanced at Rowena over Grummond's shoulder.  She had gone from glum to confused, and then her face broke into a wide, terrifying grin.  It was the nicest thing he'd seen all day, although given how the day was going, that wasn't saying much.

"Oh, no, it's just spells from _wands_ and that sort of thing," said Grummond.  "The long-term stuff stays put -- actually, it's quite an interesting setup they have here, I'd like to --"

Rowena kicked him into the moat, and he fell with a startled cry.  Above, Godric could hear the sounds of scuffling, but for now he concentrated on dragging Grummond out of the water.  "Give me Rowena's wand back," he told Grummond, who was pointing his own useless wand at Godric.

"Expelli-- Inflama-- CLIO!" Grummond shouted.  He tried to kick Godric, and succeeded only in splashing around a bit as he dangled from Godric's fist.  "HELP!"

"Let's try this again," said Godric.  "Hypothetically, I _could_ hold you under the water until you stopped kicking, take the wand from you, and leave, or you could _give me Rowena's wand_."  He shook Grummond for emphasis.

"PUT ME DOWN!  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  CLIO!"  He had a glazed look of terror on his face, which suggested to Godric that he was used to being in control of things.  Godric rather suspected he had stopped thinking altogether, which was disappointing -- he'd expected an Aura Aurelius to be braver.

There was no time to get Rowena's wand back from a fear-frozen Aura, then.  Godric looked up to see that Rowena was still struggling to get the rope off her wrists while Hrafn tried to keep her from escaping.  No help there.  "Fine," he told Grummond.  "Yours will have to do for now."  He took the wand Grummond had been threatening him with, climbed the ladder as quickly as he could (it did not feel safe in the least, but it didn't break) and turned Rowena's rope into rags as soon as he could reach the edge of the moat.

She broke free and immediately pushed Hrafn in.  "That's for setting us up!" she shouted.  She held out her hand to Godric, who handed her Grummond's wand.  "I meant ...if you needed any help up," she told him as he hauled himself off of the tiny ladder.

He looked at her as though she had _lost her mind_, which was entirely possible, considering the way today was going.  "You wanted to help me up?"

"Well, I mean..."  She looked him up and down, and frowned.  "All right, yes, that was stupid."  She kicked the ladder into the moat, and waved her wand at it, slicing it in two with a spell.  There were a couple of splashes, and some cursing in Welsh.  "Hah!  Let's let them soak.  Come on, we should --" She turned, and the smile fell off her face.

Godric turned around.  Clio was there, with her wand pointed at them.  "Oh," he said.  "Oh, er.  Morning?"

Clio sighed.  She looked extraordinarily tired.  "You're under arrest, the both of you," she said, closing in on them.  She wasn't looking Godric in the eye.

She was concentrating on Rowena, and much as Godric didn't want to, well...  "_Stupefy!_" he said, sending the spell at Clio.

She blocked it easily, but hesitated in hexing him back.  In that split second Rowena shouted "_Confringo!_" and Clio was knocked off her feet.  "Run!" she shouted.

"Good plan!  Sorry, Clio!" he said, taking Rowena's advice and fleeing.  He didn't know where _to_, but surely anywhere was better than --

"_Stupefy!_" Godric heard Clio shout.  He ducked instinctively, then realized that Clio probably wouldn't be hexing at _him_ \-- after all, he wasn't all that dangerous compared to Rowena.  _Rowena!_ he thought, looking back to see if she was all right.

He saw her on the ground, quite knocked out.  Then Clio raised her wand again, and she was looking at him, finally.  She seemed desperately sad.  "_Stupefy!_" she said again, and Godric felt himself falling as everything went black.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's note:** This chapter is dedicated to my parents, who are terrifically inspiring.
> 
> More seriously, this is the first chapter I've ever felt I should post a **TRIGGER WARNING** for. The very last scene (there are four in this chapter, and it is Rowena's second scene) depicts a pretty intense bout of emotional abuse by a parent. If you have triggers around this or simply don't want to deal with reading that kind of thing right now, you may want to skip it. I wouldn't have thought to warn for it, and I feel kind of silly doing so, only it took me several months to make myself write it, and then several months after writing it to be able to reread/edit, and I don't want to spring Horrible Things on my readers who are looking for fun escapism.

When Rowena awoke, she was in a wooden room without doors, outside windows, or her wand.  It was this last thing that made her panic -- she searched the room and her person several times before resigning herself to wandlessness.

There was a bed, a chamberpot, and even a table with ink and a roll of parchment, which Rowena supposed were supposed to be comforting, but she couldn't stand to be without her wand for very long.  At first, she was shaking, but after a while, the raw panic settled into a quiet sense of terror and worthlessness.  It was difficult for her to breathe properly, and she couldn't bring herself to do anything but lie on the bed and look up at the ceiling, her thoughts chasing each other in dreadful circles.

It was the worst thing in the world to be able to sit back and look at the state of her mind and think _I am entirely useless, and this is all my fault,_ as though she was looking at herself in a hand mirror and every moment fighting the urge to smash it.

With a certain amount of apprehension, she forced herself to stand, and wandered over to the one window in the room.  It was at about head height, a foot square, and had bars on it.  She imagined this was where the entrance to the room was, when it existed at all.  She looked outside, expecting to find somebody rage-inducing like Sheffield.

Instead it was somebody rage-inducing like Maelys the Bastard.  In polite company she was now called Maelys the Golden.  Rowena was not polite company.

"_You!_" she said.

"Somebody woke up, finally," said Maelys.

"Let me out!" Rowena demanded.

"That would be against orders," said Maelys.

"I can tell you where to shove your orders," said Rowena darkly.  "Give me my wand!"

"Do I look stupid to you?" Maelys asked.

"Oh, always," said Rowena, sweetly.  "Though not half as stupid as the time you hexed your left ear off."

"I was _ten_ and it was an _accident--_" started Maelys.

"It was not!" said Rowena, gleefully.  "Helga and I planned that!  You make a great unwitting pawn, you know," she said.  "D'you know, Maelys, you were always my favorite cousin after that?"

Maelys glared.  She looked quite like she wanted to punch Rowena, and Rowena was going to do whatever it took to provoke her -- maybe then she'd open the door and attack.  Rowena wasn't sure if she wanted this because she could steal Maelys' wand, or because being pummeled senseless by an angry Aura Aurelia would be a change of pace.  "Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual."

"You know," said Rowena, "you do have to wonder, though, why Uncle Livius still keeps you around.  I mean, he may still be undecided about who he wants to inherit, but --" Rowena forced a slightly mad laugh -- "well, if I was your father, I'd _never_ want to acknowledge you.  Bad enough being related by marriage."

Maelys lunged closer.  "You shut up, you _bitch_, just because you _\--_"

"Anyway, you looked much better with only one ear," said Rowena.  "And it served you right for tripping me in front of Malachi ben Shlomo.  AND for ruining my best dress the week before.  Not like you'd ever have a chance with him, though, even after eliminating the competition, so I have to wonder why you _bothered --_"

"Because you lied to all my friends!  You told them I was a _werewolf!_" said Maelys.

"I did not," said Rowena, cheerfully.  She gripped the bars in the window and got her face as close as possible.  "You didn't have any friends.  They were just afraid you'd beat them up.  Toadies aren't _friends,_" said Rowena, scoffing.

"Where are all of yours, if you're such an expert?" Maelys asked.

Rowena glowered.  "I'm certain Helga will find a perfectly legal and non-violent way of getting me out of here," she said.  Helga could do that, right?  Helga was clever.  Helga did not commit random acts of senseless hubris.  She would find a way where Rowena had not.

Maelys smiled slowly.  "Little Hufflepuff's gone _home,_ cousin.  She was in a hurry to get back to her husband.  She says he's ill or something.  Now that's _real _friendship, isn't it?"

Rowena tried to hide the shock, but this news struck her as though it were a physical thing.  She knew Helga would be worried about Basil and the full moon, and -- well, he _was_ her husband.  So of course Helga cared more about him than -- no.  No, she would not give Maelys the satisfaction of believing her.  "You're lying," she said.

Maelys grinned.  "Keep telling yourself that."

* * *

"Apparently the Aurae have arrested Godric and Rowena, and now they're looking to question you," said Ari.  "I sent fake-you home last night, though, so they're looking in the wrong place."  He looked exhausted, and Helga felt a bit bad for taxing him so.  On the other hand, this plan had needed someone to take care of socializing for her while she was busy, and he'd fit the bill, so of course she was going to use him.  "But, if I may ask," he said, "you're certain there's not a perfectly legal and non-violent way of rescuing them?"

Helga considered this.  Rowena and Godric were in the hands of Lady Aeaeae, who could probably have been bargained with if Helga had had something she wanted.  "Well, I would have an off chance of managing that if I had a month to plan, a pound of gold, and some really good scenthounds," she said, "but Godric will be dead before then and who knows where Rowena will be," she said.  "Besides, soon we'll be invincible!" she said, cheerfully.  "Well, mostly.  ...Ish.  Not against killer termites, but, you know, invincible enough."  Carefully, she put her apparatus into a bucket.  "We're going to need blankets to make sure this doesn't break," she told Grimhildr.  "Can you get those?"

"Who is going to be carrying this thing, anyway?" Grimhildr asked suspiciously.  "It had better not be me."

"Ari will do it," said Helga.

Grimhildr perked up at this, and went to fetch the blankets.  Ari just rolled his eyes.  "Must you encourage her?"

"It helps," said Helga.  "May I ask if there's a reason Grimhildr hates you?" Helga asked.

Ari looked away.  "Well," he said.  "I have... been unpleasant to her in the past?"  He seemed to be asking if he could leave it at that.

"Mm-hmm," said Helga, raising an eyebrow.

Ari continued.  "She just makes such a good target!  Like --"

"Like Basil?" asked Helga.

"If you _must_ know, I find it very entertaining when people are full of themselves," said Ari.

 She snorted at this, as Ari could be nearly as egotistical as Rowena.  Still.  "The thing is, Basil's old enough to take care of himself, and he's got me to make fun of him.  But Grimhildr's just a child, really.  She's never even been away from home, has she?"

Ari shrugged.  "I think she visits her mother sometimes.  She's -- you've got other sisters, too.  Two older ones, both married."

"Is it worth meeting them?" Helga asked.

Ari shrugged.  "I have never met them."

"...Let me put it this way, are they any more irritating than my brother Leo?" Helga asked.

"...Leo?" Ari asked blankly.  "...Oh.  Oh!  _That_ Leo."  He went red, and looked at the floor.  "He, er, he is a very great fan of mine, yes?  I, ah.  I possibly may be slightly biased.  You see, he --"

"I don't think I want to hear this," said Helga, because it was bad enough dealing with Leo's string of girls.  "Forget I asked."

Grimhildr came back with the blankets.  "So, let me just ask this," she said.  "If we escape, Father and I are coming?"

"...You can follow if you like," said Helga.  She did not really want to take her father anywhere; it was hard to get used to his presence at all.

"But also, _he's_ coming," she said resentfully, pointing at Ari.

"...Yes," said Helga.  "If he wants."

"I want," said Ari.

"Do we still have to get married?" Grimhildr asked.

"_No,_" said Ari.  "Definitely not."

"I am not _asking_ you," said Grimhildr.

"I do not see that anyone else could _possibly_ be involved," said Ari.

"Don't marry him," said Helga.  "Definitely not.  I mean, you could do so much better!  ...No offense, Ari."

Ari shrugged.  "She is a brat.  She would be a terrible wife."

"I would _not,_" said Grimhildr.  "_You_ are an annoying idiot.  The man _I_ marry will be sensible and rich."

"I am _very _rich!" Ari said.  "Richer than _you._"

"But not sensible," said Grimhildr.

"Oh, you don't want to marry for money, Grimhildr," said Helga.  "Haven't you got anybody you fancy?"

Grimhildr looked at her as though she had grown an extra head.  "No.  Blegh."

"Well, I'm certain you'll meet somebody nice eventually," said Helga.

"Yeah, nice to do accounting for," said Grimhildr.  "Who doesn't spend it all on _clothes_ and _toys._"

"I have very good taste in clothes, and my magical devices are not _toys,_" said Ari, injured.  "Besides, they could all be resold at --"

"Ari, you don't even _like_ her," said Helga.  "Shut up."

"I would still make a perfectly decent husband," said Ari.

As they continued to argue, Helga gave up.  "You're both mad," she muttered to herself, carefully nesting her apparatus in the blankets.  "And usually I mean that as a _compliment._"  Once her setup was reasonably secure, she lifted it and put it in Grimhildr's hands.  "Come on," she said.  "Let's go fight the law.  And don't drop this."

Grimhildr yawned enormously.  "As long as I get to take a nap sometime this year..."

* * *

When Godric came to, he was in some kind of stone cell with bars, his head hurt, and his hands were chained behind his back.  Whoever had brought him in had left him propped against a wall, and so of course the entire side of his face was numb.  Godric was prepared to suffer a number of indignities for whatever cause he happened to have been talked into supporting on any given day, but he was reconsidering run-ins with the law.

"Welcome back to the waking world," said a pleasant voice with a Welsh accent.  Godric recognized, muzzily, the Aura he'd been threatening to drown -- Grummond, he thought?  He was sitting on a comfortable-looking chair, his feet up on a crate.  He was holding a glass of something, which he raised towards Godric in a friendly manner before continuing.  "Before we start, I'd just like to make sure you're fully cognizant of your surroundings and general situation.  Is that all right?"

"Where the _hell _am I?" demanded Godric, sitting up as best he could.  "Let me go!"

"Good enough for government work," said Grummond.  "You're in our portable prison and siege tower.  Nice, isn't it?  Good solid craftsmanship.  It was hell getting _you_ through the doorway, though, this place is tiny on the outside.  Anyway, enough of that.  Now, it's important that you understand what you're participating in here," he said.  "My employer has generously volunteered you for a little study I'm doing, which I think personally is a testament to her devotion to the furtherance of knowledge and natural philosophy."  He grinned broadly.  "I assume you'll have all manner of objections, but frankly I don't really care."

He paused, possibly for breath.  Godric frantically looked for any way out of here, as this didn't seem like something they were planning on letting him survive.  Maybe he could transfigure Grummond's drink into poison?  No, that would still leave Godric stuck in the cell, but next to a corpse.  Damn.

"Anyway, in case you're curious what I'm going to do, which, as one scholar to another, I imagine you are, this is a delightful little charm I've invented which causes you less pain the more you talk!  Specifically, the intensity of the pain diminishes according to the number of words you've spoken -- at least, while I'm not speaking.  Now, of course, I'm trying to find the optimal range of pain to inflict, because in my first trials people kept dying on me -- not helpful at all, is it?  ...Are you even listening to me?"

Godric was testing how tight the chains around his wrists were.  Maybe he would be lucky and they would be made of some soft metal.  "Yeah, definitely," he said distractedly.  "Sounds brilliant."  He was going to _die_.  He was going to die of experimental charms after listening to three days' worth of monologue from an Aura.

"I don't think you are," said Grummond.  He flicked his wand at Godric, muttering something under his breath.  "There you go.  Now, tell me, is it working?"

Godric _wanted_ to say a lot of things, most of them quite nasty, but the sudden feeling that his head was in a vise and that all of his joints were being pulled apart in different directions _and he was on fire_ made it quite impossible to share these thoughts; all he could say was "Augh!"

"Hmm.  Maybe a little _too_ well."  He flicked his wand again, and the pain lessened slightly.  "Better?"

"Definitely very very _very _much better now would you _please_ let me the _hell_ out of here _right now you _\--"

"Terms of abuse and obscenity are not counted as words under the spell, but you are welcome to use them if you must," said Grummond.

Godric gritted his teeth.  "Well, what do you want to know?" he demanded.

"Tell me about your research into thought control," said Grummond.  "All of it."

So Godric told him -- _all_ of it.  He couldn't help it -- well, he could, but _god_ would it have hurt.  For a few moments he could _even_ forget his situation, reveling in the glories of magical theory -- but then he would hesitate to think of the proper way to put something, and the pain would start in again.  Horribly, Grummond knew exactly what sort of questions to ask when he didn't quite grasp something about Godric's research.  He didn't even want to _think_ about what Grummond would do with his knowledge.

After what seemed like several hours, Grummond waved his wand and the pain faded.  He slumped in relief.  Certainly, he was ravenous, thirsty, his throat was sore from explaining, and his muscles ached from sitting tied up in a cell and being tormented, but considering the absence of magical searing pain, he was doing quite well -- in addition to which, now that he had ceased to be useful, they were probably going to kill him soon.  It was a bit of a relief, to be honest, although now he was wondering who was going to mark the assignments he had given some of his more promising students over the summer.  He didn't trust Jasper to do it right at all.

He hoped they'd sell his things and send the money to his brother.  He hoped they'd bother to _tell_ his brother, who wouldn't be able to read a written letter.  If he was going to do everything over again -- well, if he was going to do _this trip_ all over again, he would have left instructions somewhere for Helga or Lord Slytherin or whoever found them.

Godric had always assumed his last moments would be full of regrets, but he'd assumed it would be regrets like "I really shouldn't have jumped off that cliff, but everybody else was doing it," or "If only I had remembered how not to enrage a hippogriff, I would still have all of my limbs."  If he had a second chance, he resolved that he would spend more of it writing quietly in his office and generally leading a very dull life.

Grummond looked up from organizing his notes.  "You've been very helpful, Gryffindor.  Would you like a drink?" he asked.

Godric blinked at this unexpected show of kindness.  Perhaps he was wrong to think of Grummond as cold-hearted and unfeeling.  After all, Aurae had no choice but to obey orders or die.  Besides, he was _very_ thirsty.  He nodded, not caring if it was whiskey or ale.

He watched, anxiously, as Grummond floated his own cup up to Godric.  He drank it as best he could -- surprisingly, it tasted like ordinary water.  When he had finished, Grummond took the cup back and tucked his notes under his arm.  "Again, thank you," he said.  "You've been very useful to my studies.  Now that we're done here, Lady Aeaeae will be in shortly to commence the interrogation."

"But -- _what?_  But I just went through that!  You asked me all these questions and... I _answered._"

Grummond gave him a small grin.  "Don't be ridiculous," he said.  "Torture is unreliable!  I've studied it in great detail.  Well, it's unreliable unless your inmate is a great big idiot," he said, chuckling a bit.  "But sometimes you get a clever one.  By the way, Gryffindor, how are you feeling?"

"Comprehensively awful," Godric snapped.

"You're going to feel even worse when you work out what it is you just drank," said Grummond.  "See you!"  He strutted out of the room cheerfully.

* * *

Rowena was sitting in the corner of her cell, curled up as small as she could make herself, when the outline of the doorway popped into existence and Aurelia Sheffield walked in, followed by her mother.

Not good.

She wiped her eyes hurriedly and stood.  "What do you want?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice from shaking.  She had no wand, so she couldn't work out what she should do with her hands.  She settled for playing with a loose thread in the embroidery of one of her sleeves.

"Give me a chair, Cliodna," said her mother.  She hadn't deigned to answer Rowena -- hadn't even _looked_ at her yet.  As though she was not important.  Which, Rowena supposed, she wasn't.  Sheffield conjured a chair, looking as though she found it mildly distasteful work.

Rowena looked pleadingly at Sheffield, who stared coldly back.  She didn't really know what she'd expected -- Sheffield's own oddly reassuring blend of resentment and disgust?  Whatever it was, Rowena didn't find it.  "What's going on?  What do you want?" she asked of both of them.  This time she knew she sounded a lot more rattled -- more pathetic, really -- but she shoved those thoughts viciously towards the back of her mind.

It was then that her mother finally looked at her.  "You look _terrible_, Rowena.  Why do you have to be so overdramatic?"

Rowena laughed.  It sounded rather forced, and yet she hadn't actually intended to laugh -- it just happened.  "_You're_ asking _me_ that question?" she heard herself say.  Oh, why had she said that?  She should just go back to her corner and curl up again, for all the good it would do her.  Or hide under the bed.  Or scream and cry and gibber and rave.  "I'm not afraid of you," she said, lying.  "I mean, what could you possibly do to me?  I stole something.  It's not like treason or murder.  And I'm your only heir.  You can't have another child, you're too old.  You're stuck with me.  Sorry."

"I'm very disappointed in you, Rowena," said her mother.  "I mean, _really._  I expected much better."  She sighed.  "You know, I've done all I could for you.   You have no idea how much I've sacrificed -- the alliances I could have made if you'd just..."  She shook her head.  "Do you know how bad your recent escapades have made me look?"

"Well, I --"  Rowena hadn't thought about it that way; she'd certainly enjoyed upsetting her mother, but she hadn't really thought through _why_ it would upset her, aside from her mother being generally against Rowena undertaking anything independently.  Besides, the school had _needed a castle, _and Lord Salazar had provided one.  "I hadn't really thought of it," she muttered.

"Perhaps you _should_ have," said her mother.  "Then, you've always been a thoughtless little brat.  I thought I had trained you out of it, but no, you're just uneducable."  She stood, getting far too close to Rowena for her own comfort.  Rowena tried not to react to the smell of her breath and the imminent threat of physical or magical violence.  She imagined herself rooted to the ground like a tree, and sank her concentration into the sensations of standing still.

What her mother had said was true, though.  She was not a very good person.  She liked to play at being one, but she couldn't imagine that anyone was fooled.  The knot in her stomach grew tighter.  She started on another lie, an obvious one, but familiar from childhood.  "I didn't mean to --"

"Oh, you didn't _mean_ to," said her mother, mockingly.  "That doesn't matter.  You did it.  Do you think before you do _anything_ or are you just stupid?"

"I'm just stupid," Rowena muttered, not particularly interested in what she was saying.  It was the only way out of this argument.  She couldn't look at her mother anymore, so her gaze had gradually dropped to the embroidery she was picking at on her sleeve.  Beneath the pattern, the fabric was darker.  Her arm and her hand worked at pulling the embroidery out, but the rest of her body was numb.  It was the mental version of curling up in the corner.  She could think of anything but the woman in front of her.

"No, that's not true.  You're thoughtless, but you're not stupid.  What did Slytherin offer you?"  Her voice was cold and angry, and memories of arguments past caused Rowena to mentally append things like "ungrateful child" and "you little _bitch_" to every sentence.

"The castle for the school," Rowena muttered.  "You know _that._"  _Think about the ground, think about your stupid sleeve, don't think about --_

Her mother grabbed her chin and wrenched it up.  "_Look_ at me when I talk to you," she snapped.  "And stop ruining your clothes."

Rowena shoved her away.  "Don't touch me!"

Instantly, Sheffield was between them, and Rowena could have hugged her for it. "Don't move," Sheffield snapped.

"She _did_ start it," Rowena pointed out.  She looked around, feeling much more like herself now that there was an Aura Aurelia between herself and her tormentor.  She took a deep breath.  "I mean.  I'm fine, I'll stay here, honest."  She put her hands up and smiled in what she hoped was a friendly manner.  Sheffield was looking at her like she was mad, which was actually probably the case.

"Oh, get out of the way.  I can take care of myself," snapped her mother, pushing past Sheffield.  "Rowena, what did Slytherin offer you to make me look bad?  Tell me."

Rowena blinked.  The brief moment of feeling like her old snarky self again with Sheffield had done her a lot of good.  Her mother looked tired and old and paranoid, and yes, she was the most powerful person in Europe -- well, except for the Pope -- but she was also a terrified angry _mess._  Rowena decided to be completely honest.  "Nothing, Mother," she said.

"That's a lie," said her mother.  "Was it a marriage to his son?"

Rowena rolled her eyes.  "I don't _want_ to get married."  She laughed.  "You know, sometimes I feel like you don't listen to me."  Gods, her mother was _stupid_.  Now that Rowena was feeling so much better -- _so_ much better than normal, even -- she almost didn't care that she didn't have her wand.

"I don't care how you feel!" her mother shouted.  "Rowena, just because you don't _want_ to get married doesn't mean you _won't._  Why won't you be _responsible?_  Now, tell me what Slytherin gave you.  You know perfectly well that whatever it was, I could have bought you --"

"No.  Do you know what he offered me?" Rowena asked, finally snapping.  The truth hadn't helped, so she would lie, and lie viciously.  "He offered me the chance to help him completely ruin your life," she said.  She smiled, showing all her teeth.  "Because you're _mad_, and I'm not sure how you've even survived this long.  I mean, everybody hates you.  Your own bodyguards hate you.  _I _hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," said her mother, slowly.

Rowena hadn't been expecting that.  Still, she was angry, and anger was powerful, and she was determined not to lapse into the terrified stupid girl she'd been moments ago.  "I hope you die alone and terrified.  I hope somebody takes you away in the middle of the night and your body is found the next morning hanging from a tower, your innards wrapped around your throat.  That would be hilarious, wouldn't it?"

Sheffield, frowning slightly, said, "I think we should go, Lady Aeaeae."

"Yes," said her mother, not looking in the least perturbed.  "Let's come back when my daughter is more herself.   See that she's comfortable, would you?"

"Er.  Yes.  Certainly."  Sheffield followed her out, not turning her back on Rowena for a second.

The moment they were gone, of course, Rowena's bubble of burning, joyful _rage_ popped, and she realized _what she'd said_.  And that she'd _meant it all.  _And that she'd loved saying it.

She rushed to the window.  "WAIT!  Come back!  I didn't _mean_ it!" she shouted.  Sheffield shot her one final look of disgust before they turned the corner.  Rowena couldn't really blame her.  She felt a bit nauseous now.

_I've lost my freedom,_ she thought._  And what's worse, I've lost my mind._


	25. Chapter 25

Clio followed Lady Aeaeae away from the luxury cell.  She was almost afraid to ask what Lady Aeaeae thought she was going to do about her daughter, but after that interview, Clio thought the best solution was to arrange for a nice sensible accident, and then adopt a foundling or something.  Lady Aeaeae occasionally suggested this sort of thing, but Clio had never endorsed it until now, because Lady Ravenclaw had never seemed like much of a threat.

It wasn't as though Lady Aeaeae was any better, but Clio's job was to protect her, and _by God,_ she was going to do her job.  Her _utterly mad _job.

"Well?" Lady Aeaeae asked.

"Would you prefer that they find an identifiable body, an unrecognizable one, or none at all?" she asked.

"What?" demanded Lady Aeaeae, as if she was taken aback.  "None of the above!  She's still useful."  The problem with this conversation, Clio thought, was that they'd had it fairly often, but Lady Aeaeae always acted as if she'd mysteriously forgot all about the previous times.

"With all due respect, my lady, you are --" _a complete nutter!_, Clio thought.  "--You are perhaps being overly optimistic."

"She's going through a rebellious phase, that's all," said Lady Aeaeae.  "She's young."

"Isn't she almost thirty?" Clio asked.

"I don't know what's _wrong_ with her," said Lady Aeaeae, who didn't seem to be listening.  "I should never have had her educated by a commoner.  That's probably it.  ...It's nothing to do with _me._  I'm not responsible for this nonsense of hers."  She looked sharply at Clio.

"Of _course_ you're not," said Clio, quickly.  There were times she could be more honest with Lady Aeaeae than most people, but when she got into this sort of state, Clio knew what was expected of her.

"I hadn't realized how truly disturbed she was," said Lady Aeaeae, contemplatively.  "I mean, I'm her _mother!_  She acts as though I haven't got her best interests at heart!"

"Yes," said Clio, cautiously.  Bland agreement was usually safe.

"I think if it proves necessary, they shouldn't find the body," she said, after a contemplative silence.  "We should cut off all her hair and store it in a safe place to preserve it for Polyjuice.  That way she can turn up again with convenient amnesia, a dramatic backstory, and a much more pliable personality."

"Hm," said Clio, noncommittally.  "I know a few people who'd enjoy that job."

"They sound dangerous.  Kill them as soon as possible," said Lady Aeaeae.  "_My_ new heir will be Obliviated.  ...Unless we can come up with a better alternative."

"Of course," said Clio.

"Lady Aeaeae!" said Goronwy, bowing low when he saw them.  "The second prisoner has been prepared.  I found out some _very_ interesting things about his research -- into _thought control,_" he said.

"You mean Imperius?" Lady Aeaeae asked.

"No, no, this is better," he said.

"Maybe we _have_ got another option, then," she said, perking up.  "What do you think, Clio?"

Clio thought that she wanted to get Godric and ask him what the _hell_ he was researching _that_ for.  He seemed so _normal._  But, as for the topic at hand -- "Yes, it could be very useful, but my suspicion is it's not at the moment -- mostly theory.  Am I right?" she asked Goronwy.

"Well... yes," said Goronwy.  "What sort of problem are you trying to solve?"

"The usual," Clio said.  "How to deal with troublesome people."  She hoped Lady Aeaeae was sensible enough not to discuss her potential victims of strategic disappearance with _lesser Auras._

"Well, at any rate, I've got your secret lover all prepped and tied up," said Goronwy, with a wide, vicious grin at Clio.  "Bet you like that!"  He walked past them, snickering to himself.

Clio did not react to this, to her credit.  Goronwy was a stupid jealous prat, and Godric was doomed, and Ophelia Aeaeae was mad, and there was nothing she could do about any of them except to do her job well and try not to do anything to cause a war of succession.  "I suppose you'll want to interrogate him, then?" she asked Lady Aeaeae.

She smiled, looking rather like someone's sweet old grandmother.  "Yes, I think I shall.  Now, remember you can't speak to him --"

"I am well aware of that," snapped Clio.  Lady Aeaeae's grin got wider, and Clio was finding it much harder to keep her temper.  "Why are you _doing_ this?" she demanded.  "You didn't have to call me in from the siege -- Goronwy's perfectly capable of -- well, no -- _someone's_ perfectly capable of handling this nonsense and telling Goronwy and Maelys what to do.  Someone other than me.  I understand why you want to get rid of him, but why does it have to be _me?_"

"Oh, Clio," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Because it's _funny_.  You're so _upset_.  It's because you're young, I think.  People seem so much more important to us when we're naïve."

Clio, who had killed her first werewolf at the age of twelve and had taken out five more by her thirteenth birthday, did not think of herself as naïve.  "I could refuse to do it, you know."

"And then you would die," said Lady Aeaeae.  "You wouldn't do that to yourself.  I know you too well."  She smiled.  "You know, I like you, Clio.  Nobody else will have these conversations with me.  It's like they're all frightened I'll have you execute them."

"I can't imagine what would give them a silly idea like that," Clio snapped.

Lady Aeaeae caught her tone, and smiled grimly.  "Quite."

Clio held the door to the holding cells for her, then followed her in.  Of course, Lady Aeaeae took the chair; Clio stood in the corner miserably, trying to be professional about this whole thing.

She looked at Godric.  He was chained up, and wet, and _vulnerable_, in addition to his usual handsome and clever and sweet and strong.  She tended to find that sort of thing very distracting.  On the other hand, he was also bruised and shivering, and she wished she could _do_ _something_ about it, and not just let him suffer.

From an absolutely practical point of view, she knew he ought to see a good Healer, but Clio thought that hacking off Lady Aeaeae's head, charging across Europe overthrowing Muggle and magical governments alike, and taking Godric as her emperor-consort (assuming he didn't mind) sounded _much_ more satisfying.  She had always been a bit of a romantic.

Still, she knew most people did not enjoy war -- that there was probably something deeply wrong with her for so doing.  Besides, she'd never survive long enough to draw her sword on Lady Aeaeae -- her Unbreakable Vow to protect the Council and its Chief would stop her heart.

"Master Gryffindor," said Lady Aeaeae, cheerfully.  "Isn't this nice?"

"Not particularly," Godric said, glaring.  He shot a brief glance at Clio, though whether he was disgusted with _her_ particularly or this whole situation, she could not tell.  "What do you want from me?  I already told Grummond what he wanted to know."

"Yes, but you didn't tell _me_ what _I_ want to know," said Lady Aeaeae.  "And you could be a bit more polite," she added.  "I _am_ the Chief of the Wizards' Council.  You're an abominably rude young man, you know.  Didn't Mistress Lockhart teach you any manners?"

"Only as much as she taught Rowena," Godric said, and Clio covered up her giggling with a sudden coughing fit.

"Clio, dear, hold your breath," said Lady Aeaeae.  She had no choice but to do so.

"Now," said Lady Aeaeae, "let's stop joking around and get down to business, shall we?"  Clio wanted to breathe.  _Really_ wanted to breathe.

"Yes, of course," said Godric hurriedly, looking anxiously at Clio.

"Good," said Lady Aeaeae.  Clio _really_ wanted to breathe.  "First off -- what do you know of Lord Salazar's plans to take the Council?"

"Well, he wants to install me, I suppose, and then he'll have a majority.  He's hoping to do it before you kill your husband," Godric said.  He looked surprised.  "That... that came out wrong."

By now, words and sentences were becoming muddled for Clio.  All she could think about was breathing, and how much of it she _wasn't_ doing.

"Oh, were you planning on lying?" Lady Aeaeae asked.  "Difficult when you've just had a glass of Veritaserum.  And a rather cavalier way to treat your lady friend's life.  Did you see what he did, Clio?"

Clio looked helplessly at Lady Aeaeae, whose face was swimming before her.  Was she supposed to do something?  She couldn't tell.  She nodded vigorously, just in case.

"Tell her she can _breathe_, you _madwoman_," snarled Godric, struggling against his chains.

"Clio, you can ignore my last order," said Lady Aeaeae.

Air rushed into her lungs.  She realized she was slumping against the wall, and stood, horrified at this display of unprofessionalism.  She shook her head to dispel the remaining dizziness, though it wasn't really working.  "Thank you," she said, quickly, in case Lady Aeaeae decided to punish her for insufficient gratitude.

"Now, Gryffindor, as we've established, I think, a nice idea of who's in charge here and what needs to go on, let's continue.  How does your theft here at Bjornarbitholm play into Lord Slytherin's plans?"

Godric frowned.  "As far as I know, it doesn't," he said.

Lady Aeaeae paused.  "...Really?"

Godric shook his head.  "I don't even think he knows about this.  Well, maybe.  You can't always tell with him.  Possibly he hoped Rowena and I would get caught, so that I would end up telling you everything I knew.  I really wish he'd warned me, though, if that was the case.  This is _really_ uncomfortable -- have I mentioned?"  He rattled the chains demonstratively.

The wind having been taken from her sails, Lady Aeaeae frowned, considering what else she should ask.  "Well, what's the rest of his plan?" she demanded.

"I think I just told you," said Godric.  "Put me on the Council, I'm for him and against you, down you go.  He's assumed you're going to try putting Thaddeus Fudge on the Council instead."  He sounded resigned to his fate.

"But how's he going to get _you_ on the Council?" demanded Lady Aeaeae.  "Is he having you marry somebody influential?  Bribery?  Intimidation?  ...Blackmail?  That's one of my favorites," she added unnecessarily.

"I don't know," he said glumly.  "I was going to become an Animagus.  I thought maybe that'd help."

At this, Lady Aeaeae began to laugh.  "You?  Really?  Ha!  Are you going to find the Philosopher's Stone as well?"

"No," said Godric, looking annoyed.  "I just --"

"I mean, you're not even _human_.  I mean, maybe you are _technically_ but _really_ now, come _on._  Humanity is all relative, and _Muggleborn_ hardly counts even at the best of times.  Most of the Council have old blood or noble birth -- we are descended from gods, kings, and heroes!  But _you?_  You are an accident of magic -- a freak and a commoner besides.  And Salazar thinks _you _could be on the Council?"

"Yes, apparently he does," grumbled Godric.  "You know I still have to answer rhetorical questions, don't you?"

"Oh, Salazar.  The man's mad," said Lady Aeaeae, giggling.  "And I expect you're nowhere _near_ this lofty goal of yours?  I hear you have to go to Atlantis or Avalon to become an Animagus."

"I very much doubt that," said Godric.  "Rowena's further along than me, I think, but I know she'll be having problems reconciling the necessary spells for the visualization aspect with the nature of silver, because some of the current theory is absolute bollocks, but Mnestra and Circe wrote about it, and who are we to question the ancients?  Gods, kings, and heroes make dreadful theoreticians.  As for me, I'm stuck on the symbolic meaning of the stone-winged falcon," he said.  "I'm thinking it must be jade or malachite."

Lady Aeaeae blinked.  She looked at Clio.  "...What in _Hades_ did he just say?"

"I don't know," said Clio, who was trying not to find it endearing.  She stole a glance over Lady Aeaeae's shoulder at Godric.  He was smiling weakly at her, as if she needed reassuring, and her heart dropped into her stomach.  She could do nothing to save beautiful mad Godric, and while he seemed to know that, it hurt that he could be so _kind_ about it.

"So you're... actually going to do this, you think -- wait a moment," she said.  "_Rowena's_ doing this?"

"We're sort of in competition," said Godric, looking as though he'd rather not talk about it.

"She could get herself killed!" said Lady Aeaeae.  "Why doesn't that girl _listen to reason?_"

"I don't think she likes what it has to say," said Godric.  "Anyway, she said the same about me.  We didn't know you cared!  She'll be touched."

_Only touched in the head,_ Clio thought.

"How long do you think it will take you to reach this goal?"

"_Forever,_ since you're going to kill me before I can work it out," said Godric, sounding extremely cranky.

"Oh, you know what I mean," she snapped.  "Hypothetically!"

"I don't know.  Five years, maybe?" said Godric.  "It's difficult to know, since nobody's done it for a few centuries."  There was a little bit of an edge to his voice.  "Look, have you decided whether you're going to kill me or not?  I can't tell, and it's bothering me," he asked.

"You know, I think you know too much," said Lady Aeaeae.  "What do you think, Clio?"

Clio froze up.  "...You're asking _me?_" she asked.

"Yes," said Lady Aeaeae.  "As a professional matter, do you think it's safe to let him live?"

Clio looked unhappily at Godric.  "...I.  Well.  He has a _slight_ advantage in combat, admittedly, but it's mostly cancelled out by lack of training and the wrong disposition.  Other than that --"

"Politically, Clio," she snapped.  "Politically."

Her heart sank.  "You had better kill him," sighed Clio.  "Or get him onto your side.  He'll make Fudge look incompetent."

"Fudge _is_ incompetent," Godric pointed out.  "He'll be incompetent whether I'm alive or dead."

Lady Aeaeae rolled her eyes.  "You're useless, boy, did you know that?"

"Yes, actually," said Godric, sighing.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped.  "...You're supposed to be clever.  It seems a waste to kill you.  Can _you_ think of any reason I ought to let you live?  You _could_ work for me," she offered.

Clio perked up.  She had assumed Lady Aeaeae would be ordering her to kill Godric right about now, but she actually sounded _serious_ about her suggestion.

Godric, though, seemed to be trying not to answer.  The potion won out in the end, as it always did.  "I don't think that would work," he said.  "I assume you'd want me to go along with Lord Slytherin and then vote against him, but he'd probably kill me or something if I betrayed him.  Unless I turned on you and told him, which I really have no problem doing.  Other than my life, what's in this for me?"

Lady Aeaeae grinned.  "Oh, that's right," she said.  "You can't lie to me.  I almost forgot.  Hmm.  I can't convince you?  Nothing you'd make an Unbreakable Vow for?  I've found them quite useful for always getting my way."  She glanced at Clio.  "Oh, that's something!  You could ask for _her!_" she said, as though she thought this was perfect.

"_Excuse me?_" snapped Clio.  She had to do what she was ordered, but _even Lady Aeaeae_ had standards.  Mostly standards of practicality, but they were standards.  "I mean, it's not like -- he's --"  She looked at Godric.  "I mean _obviously_ I'm...  I'm _fond_ of him, but you can't just _give_ me to somebody."

"Well, obviously I can," said Lady Aeaeae, displeased that Clio would question her absolute authority.

"I hate to interrupt," said Godric, sounding desperately unhappy, "but there is absolutely no way I'd want for you to _order_ Clio to be my -- to be a -- well, it doesn't really sound like my sort of thing either."  He looked at Clio.  "Not that you aren't, er.  Amazing, I suppose is the word," he told her, and she felt herself going pink, and grinning despite herself.

Lady Aeaeae rolled her eyes.  "Oh, for Hera's sake.  You two are sickening."  Before she could go on, though, there was a knock at the door.

Clio sighed.  "That'll probably be Bjornson wanting to know why we're _still_ here."  She looked at the candle clock in the corner, and blinked -- it was only just after midday, but the room was dark despite the windows.  It must be overcast, she thought.

"You get it," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Tell him we're still very busy."

Clio sighed and opened the door.

It was Hufflepuff.  "Afternoon!" she said brightly.

Clio frowned.  "Aren't you --"  She stopped.  Something was very wrong -- more than just Hufflepuff being _here_ when she should be _gone._

"It _is_ afternoon, isn't it?" Hufflepuff asked.  She looked very calm.  And also slightly manic.  Clio decided this was going to get very bad very quickly.  She shut the door -- she _tried_, anyway.

Arnhvatr Stigandrson shoved it open again; he might be a bit useless in actual combat, but he was still a lot stronger than Clio.  "Your hospitality leaves much to be desired," he said.

_Fuck_.  Bjornson's bear guards were not doing their jobs, and it was probably Stigandrson's fault.  "Stay back," she said, keeping her wand on him and Hufflepuff.  Stigandrson was in the way, and he had a sword, so she didn't dare use Expelliarmus; bladed weapons could be dangerous to Disarm.

"Helga, dear," said Lady Aeaeae, "what _are_ you doing?"  Her tone was pleasant, but there was a definite edge.  "I mean, you have to admit, this does make you look rather... malevolent.  Not to mention stupid.  Do you have a plan?  And what about our deal?"

Hufflepuff laughed sharply.  "That's been over for quite some time, hasn't it?  Besides, are you _really_ expecting a monologue?  Honestly, villain-to-villain, I've been up all night, and I'm in no mood for speeches."  She raised her wand and snapped something complicated in Latin, and the ground _shook_.

Clio tried to regain her footing, but the floor was moving around too much; all she saw was Hufflepuff grinning like a madwoman and Stigandrson moving to hex Lady Aeaeae, so she hurried to block him.  There was a metallic wrenching noise from behind her, and she looked up to see that vines or roots or _something_ planty had come through the window and freed Godric from his chains.  The things -- roots, she thought -- wrenched themselves further into the room, the edges of the narrow window giving way, widening into a huge hole.

"Well, fuck," said Clio.  "This isn't working at all."  She needed to get Lady Aeaeae to a safe place, but Stigandrson was in the damn doorway and it was hard to fight off Hufflepuff's roots, which took more and more of the brickwork with them.  One of them knocked her wand right out of her hand, and, snarling, she drew her sword and began hacking away at it.

"Get them!" snarled Lady Aeaeae, but this was one of the few situations in which she could disregard orders -- Clio's first duty was to the Council and to the survival of the Chief, and if that meant disobeying orders to save her lady's life, well, she was just going to keep fighting off tree roots.

She wanted to know _why_ Hufflepuff was shouting at Godric, of course -- presumably they were escaping -- but it was only when she realized how much the floor was tilting that she looked up from her defense of the Chief of the Council.  Godric was scrambling out the door of the room, struggling to keep his balance as the floor jolted below them, and Clio realized that she was too late to save Lady Aeaeae, because the wall had become a wide, gaping hole, and through it she could see the ground, and it was much too far away.

"_Shit_," she muttered to herself, then turned to Lady Aeaeae.  "Grab onto something!"  The floor was beginning to fall apart now, brick by brick.  Along with the more obvious structural damage, Clio suspected the magic that had held it up had been badly fractured.  She sheathed her sword quickly and looked for something to hang onto.

"Why didn't you _stop_ them?" demanded Lady Aeaeae, clutching one of the now very bent iron bars that had once been the cell.

"Because I'm sane," snapped Clio, grabbing another bar.  "Where the _fuck_ are Goronwy and Maelys?  This place is supposed to be impenetrable."

"CLIO!" shouted a familiar voice.

She was going to kill that man someday, she just knew it.  Possibly not on purpose, but maybe, just maybe, she'd indulge in a little slaughter.  "GORONWY, YOU STUPID FUCKER!" she shouted, seeing his thestral approaching.  "WE'RE UP HERE!"

"GOOD!" he shouted at her, grinning widely.

"JUST SO YOU KNOW, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she added.

"YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT!" he bellowed cheerfully.  He flew in closer, so as to retrieve them from the siege tower.  "I dunno," he said, flying in small circles below them.  "I might just leave you here if you're not nice to me."

"Grummond, get me down from here and stop flirting with your superior," snapped Lady Aeaeae.  "Neither of us appreciates it."

"Yes, my lady, right away," said Goronwy, suddenly businesslike.  After some careful ledge-assisted hovering on the part of Goronwy and his thestral, and some most undignified whimpering from Lady Aeaeae, she was on the thestral's back, being taken towards the ground.  Clio waited patiently for her turn (if it ever came).  The roots had lost interest in her, and the floor was nearly horizontal now, but it was also mostly _gone_, so she couldn't do what she wanted to do and pursue Hufflepuff into the stolen siege tower.  She glared at the doorway, which was across ten feet of open air and probably locked shut anyway.

"I was _ordered_ to bring you back.  You coming or not?" Goronwy asked from behind her.

Still keeping careful hold of the warped iron bars, she turned to see where he was.  "I'm coming."  She'd practiced getting onto thestrals mid-air but she hardly ever had to do it, and she tried not to look down as she got on the horse behind Goronwy, hanging onto him for her life.  She was taller than him, though, so at least she could look over his shoulder.

He took his thestral gently down to the ground.  "I suppose you're going to yell at me for letting the siege engine get away from me," he said.

"I was planning on it, yes," she said.  "Although not while you could dump me for shouting in your ear."

"Thank you," he said.  "Well, the thing is, it got picked up by some trees and carried away."

"Yes, I can see that," she said, looking at the immense structure she had just left.  The tower rested on a foundation of uprooted logs, while the whole structure ambled along on six pine-tree legs.  It was going roughly south.

"See, what happened is, you know that girl who hit me earlier today?" said Goronwy.  "Her _father_ challenged me to a duel for her honor, and while he was failing spectacularly to hit me, I suppose she must have snuck in --"

"Along with _Hufflepuff_ and Arnhvatr Stigandrson," Clio said, pointedly.

"That.  Ah.  Well.  That would explain the trees," said Goronwy, weakly.  "At any rate, then the damn berserkers turned on us, so the ground's absolute _chaos_, but my first duty is to our dear Lady Aeaeae, long may she reign.  I put her in a safe place."

"Your patriotism is appreciated," said Clio, rolling her eyes.

"_Is_ it?" he asked, in what he seemed to think was a seductive tone.

"Not enough for me to fuck you again, though," said Clio.

They landed in the center of the settlement.  A few of the buildings were on fire, and there were half-bear half-man corpses lying about.  The roars of bears and the cries of Bjornson's men could be heard plainly, but they seemed to be handling it decently, although Clio itched to join them in combat.  It wasn't every day you fought _werebears_.  Lady Aeaeae sat by a weak-looking fire in the center, listening as Hrafen Stigandrson described the situation to her.  Clio, joining them, cleared her throat.

"Ah, you're back," said Lady Aeaeae.  Clio was getting no thanks today, apparently, just more orders.  "Take Grummond's thestral and follow the thieves.  I want my daughter back.  In one piece if possible," she said, looking meaningfully at Clio.  "I also want Hufflepuff taken alive.  The rest you can kill if you like."

"I'll do what I can," said Clio, all business.  "Come on, Goronwy, give me your horse.  I'll treat her well, but I'd better fly fast if I want to catch up with the walking treehouse."

* * *

Godric had only just managed to scramble through the door before another sickening jolt rocked the building even further to the side.  He collapsed against a blessedly sturdy wall, wishing everything would just stop _moving around_ so damn much.

"Are you all right?" Ari asked him, concern in his voice.

"No," said Godric.  He started ticking things off on his fingers.  "I was nearly eaten by bears, spent the night in the moat, and then I was stunned, chained up, tortured, Veritaserumed, interrogated, and nearly _fell through a wall to my doom_.  And I haven't eaten since last night, which of course was interrupted by the _bears,_ so I'm hungry.  And now I can't stop talking until I've told you all my problems, which is taking a long time."  He frowned, realizing he'd run out of fingers.  "Besides which, it makes me sound _extremely_ whiny.  Moreso than usual, I mean."

"We'll try not to ask you any more questions," said Helga, patting his arm.  "But do you know where they took Rowena?"

"No, sorry," said Godric.   "But I have a question for you," he said, frowning at her.  "What do you mean the deal's over?  What deal did you have with _her?_"

"It's not important now," she said.  "We've got to find Rowena, though.  She must be here somewhere."  She made an odd little gesture with her wand, and the floor went back to being level again.  It was still _moving_, which Godric was not happy about, but at least it wasn't trying to shake him off his feet.

"She's probably in the other cell," said Ari.  "They would never put her in the commoners' cell."

"What?" Godric asked.   "They have separate cells for nobles?"

"Of course," said Ari, blinking at him.  "You don't think they'd chain a _noblewoman_ up with _manacles,_ do you?" he asked, as though this was the most ridiculous idea in the world.

"Yes, I sort thought they'd be practical about this," said Godric, automatically.  The others ignored him.

They made their way out of the guards' station, through the courtyard and into the opposite guards' station, where logic dictated there would be another cell.  Sure enough, a woman in the Aeaeae uniform blocked their passage.  "HALT!" she snarled.  "I can take at least one of you down before I --"

"Maelys Vaurien!  What a pleasant surprise.  Is Rowena in there?" Helga asked, sounding pleased.

"Expelliarmus!" she snapped at Helga, whose wand flew out of her hand.  Helga did manage to keep a hold of her shovel, though, which she hefted at the woman.

"Have you got Rowena's wand, Maelys?" she asked.  "Godric, Ari, could you check to see if she's got Rowena's wand?"

"Piss off!" snarled Maelys.

"I'm really sorry about this," said Godric, picking her up by the front of her shirt.  "If you'd just cooperate -- OW DON'T _BITE_ ME."  He dropped her just as quickly.

"I killed monsters for a living," she snarled at him, drawing her sword.  "Don't you touch me or you'll never walk again."

"I can handle this," said Ari, drawing his own sword.  "Of course, the cowardice of Maelys Unclesdottir is well-known, I would not expect her to challenge a great scholar of Transfiguration such as yourself, Master Gryffindor.  But perhaps she is warrior enough to fight me?"

Maelys snarled and went for Ari's neck, but he blocked her quickly.  Meanwhile, Helga snuck around and hit her soundly on the back of the head with the shovel.

"I knew it'd come in useful eventually," said Helga, looking down at the dazed Aura.  "Search her for Rowena's wand, then tie her up," she told Ari.

"That was _brilliant!_" said Rowena, who had apparently been watching from a little barred window in the wall.  There was no _door_, but there was a doorknob in the wall.

"Rowena!" said Helga, sticking her hand through the bars of the window for Rowena to clasp.  "Are you all right?"

"Not really," said Rowena, "but I'm not _hurt._"  She looked as though she'd been crying.

Godric transfigured the wall into a door, and as soon as it was unlocked, Rowena ran to hug Helga.  "Oh _gods_," she said, sniffling, "I thought I was never going to see you again."  She did not let go of Helga, but looked up at Godric over Helga's shoulder.  "Godric, you're alive!" she said, genuinely pleased.  "How did you get out?"

"Helga's plants released me," said Godric.  "Also, I'm Veritaserumed, so --"

Rowena began to giggle, slightly maniacally.  She finally let go of Helga so she could help Ari carry the still-stunned Maelys into the cell.  They left her there, locking the door behind them.

"You should _not_ have told her that," said Helga.

"I will ask you for _all_ of your embarrassing secrets," said Rowena, still laughing.

"Please don't," said Godric, who found he was more sincere about this than he realized.  Did he actually have any embarrassing secrets?

"Got your wand, I think," said Ari, waving it at her.

Rowena grabbed it gratefully.  "How are we going to get her out of here?" she asked, motioning at the Aura.  "Also, what in _Hades_ is going on?"

"Well, we sort of stole the siege tower," said Helga.  "I also might've killed your mother," she said.  "I'm sorry, it just -- I don't know if she survived."

"Oh gods," said Rowena, disgustedly.  "She probably _did_, she always survives assassination attempts.  It's like a special power of hers or something.  You'd better deal with the other Aurae, though."

"They only sent _three,_" said Helga, sounding slightly insulted.  "Sheffield's with your mum, and we dealt with Grummond, so I think we're going to be all right.  We'd better see how my father and Grimhildr --"

"Your _father's_ here?" Godric demanded.  Helga's mother had always claimed he had died performing some heroic feat of magic, but Helga and Leo had always made it clear this was probably wishful thinking on her part.  "You didn't deal with him before the Aurae?  And why is Grimhildr--"

"She's my half-sister," said Helga.

Which meant Sindri was... "Oh," said Rowena, as she realized the same thing Godric had.  "...yeah, you do kind of look -- I mean, you're both short, and blonde, and, er."  She went slightly pink as her hands described a sort of exaggerated feminine figure.

Helga raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway!" said Rowena.  "The question remains.  Why didn't you get rid of dear old Dad before --"

"We needed his help," said Helga, unhappily.  "I'm hoping to ditch them somewhere along the way," she said.  "I was thinking we could send them along to Father Iestyn."

"Father _Iestyn_," said Rowena, dreamily.  "I'd be in his congregation any day, as long as I didn't have to actually believe that shit."

"It doesn't work that way," said Helga, rolling her eyes.

"I'd like to point out," said Godric, "before I forget, that we left without _anything _we came here for, and now we're fugitives from the law."

"Actually," said Ari, "they took all of your things into the siege tower, including everything you stole, so it should all be here."

"Oh, _brilliant_," said Godric, with as much sarcasm as he could muster.  "That means we're leaving with everything we came with, and as a bonus now we're _also_ fugitives from the law.  That's so much better."

"I'm ..._really_ really sorry about this," said Rowena quietly.  "I should've listened to you, Helga.  And Godric."

Helga patted her on the back.  "It'll work itself out somehow," she said.  "Oh, ah, incidentally, Ari tells me his father has some really excellent wine.  Well.  _Had._  And a nicely stocked larder."

"There's _food?_" Godric asked.  The nine days' wonder of Rowena _actually apologizing_ was nothing compared to the possibility that he might _eat_ something after almost a day without.

"There's food and _wine?_" Rowena demanded.  "You swiped liquor?"

"There's beer too," said Ari.

"Gods and seers, Helga, you think of everything" said Rowena, clapping her on the back.  "I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you.  Let's go eat and get drunk."

"Because tomorrow the Aurae are going to _kill_ us," said Godric.

"Probably not me," said Rowena.  "..._Probably._  I wasn't very --"  She stopped to think about it for a long moment.  "_Probably,_" she repeated.

"It isn't as though we're entirely undefended," Helga pointed out.  "I mean, these _are_ my trees we're using for stilts."

"How are we getting home, anyway?" Godric asked.  "Does this thing swim?"

"I suppose we'll find out," said Helga, brightly.

* * *

When Clio caught up to the tree fort on the loaned thestral, the thieves were having supper.  She knew this because, of course, the kitchen stank and spewed smoke -- apparently one of them could cook, at least.  She found herself extremely annoyed at their alterations to the portable tower -- they had done away with the outer wall and some of the inner rooms were clearly crumbling.  It would probably keep falling apart the longer it was up here on stilts.  At any rate, she had a good view of everybody laughing and talking in the small dining hall, though none of them seemed to notice her.

She saw Godric, cheerful and like his old self again -- well, his new professorial self, really.  His old self had been _so_ unhappy -- and treasonously, she hoped she wouldn't be successful.  But then he said something that made Ravenclaw laugh like a crow, and he smiled at her the way he'd sometimes smiled at Clio, and -- well.  Clio was fond of Godric but she had her duties.  And if those duties happened to involve killing the woman who'd murdered her mentor, Clio supposed that was worth the sacrifice of a good man, who'd been brave and clever and a worthy opponent.

Well, no, it wasn't even a little bit worth it, but she had her duties, and if she didn't fulfill them as best she could she would die, and Goronwy would get her job, and he'd probably start a war just by being an arse, and thousands would die because she'd let them down.

She landed quietly in the courtyard, tied up Susannah (her own thestral, Barbara, and Maelys' thestral, Yannick, were also there), and stole into the armory, grabbing a few of the spare wands.  She was missing _hers_, of course, but one of these would do for now.  She had heard something like a fist thumping against a wall near the gate, and when she looked into the VIP cell saw that Maelys had apparently been treated to the luxury of a bed, according to her status as the bastard daughter of a noble.

"Clio!" she shouted.  "You have to get me out of here.  Your monster lover tried to kill me!"

"He's not my monster -- I mean, he's not my lover," snapped Clio.  "...Or a monster!  How did you even get here?" she demanded.

"Stigandrson challenged me to a duel!" she said.  "He called me a _coward._"

"Oh, well, _that's_ a good reason," said Clio, unlocking the door for her.  "You know that's how they got Goronwy, right?"

"Well," said Maelys, looking dismayed.  "Well, I.  ...Well I bet that's how they got you too!" she snapped.  "No need to play all _clever_."

"Actually, they got me by breaking holes in the floor of the room where we were interrogating Godric," said Clio.  "I only just saved Lady Aeaeae."

"'Interrogating,' is that what they're calling it these days?" Maelys asked.

"My entendres are as single as I am," snapped Clio, "so shut it."  She threw Maelys a wand.  "Come on, we'd better take this siege tower back, it cost us enough money."

"I always said we should get a dragon instead," said Maelys.  "Looks intimidating, a dragon.   Koschei the Deathless has got one."

"Koschei the Deathless is a brutal totalitarian warlord," said Clio.  "He has a throne made entirely of skulls."

"Yes, but so is Lady Aeaeae," said Maelys.  "I mean, true, her soul's all in one place and she's not three hundred years old, and her throne's all pretty, but --"

"Hush," said Clio.  "We're trying to sneak.  You do understand stealth, don't you?"  She wasn't actually certain Maelys did -- she was the sort of person who would wear a red cloak on an espionage mission and then wonder why it hadn't worked out.

Maelys rolled her eyes.  "Fine, fine, I'll be quiet."  Then she frowned, and whispered, "Entirely of skulls?  Really?"

"The armrests are actual arms," said Clio, who had survived several audiences with this most unvanquishable of foes, "but mostly it's skulls."

"God's blood, that sounds uncomfortable," said Maelys.  "How do they hold it together?  Are the faces lashed together or is there glue or --"

"I don't _know_,Maelys, so shut up," said Clio, irritably.  She sighed.  "They're having a feast in our hall," she said.  "I think we'd better wait it out until they go to sleep.  They'll sleep very soundly, considering all the wine I saw them drinking.  We should spare Hufflepuff, she's the only one who knows how to control the trees.  And of course, we shouldn't kill Ravenclaw," said Clio.

"Pity, that," said Maelys.  She thought about it.  "...So you're going to kill your lover?"

"Would you shut up about Godric?" snarled Clio.  In truth, she hadn't decided what to do about him.  He ought to have a good death, or at least a painless one, but she didn't know if she could actually make herself slit his throat in his sleep.  Maelys would botch it.  And if she brought him back to Lady Aeaeae, he'd be in for more torture and interrogation, and Lady Aeaeae would find his last moments amusing.  "...I'll kill him tonight," she said, finally.  "He deserves that much."

"Good idea," said Maelys, apparently trying to be comforting.  "After all, you _have_ got that blond kept man in London.  'Course, he's probably got a smaller cock, but then it's easier to --"

"Leander is _not_ a kept man," Clio snarled, going red.  "Anyway, none of that is any of your business.  How do you even _know_ about Leander?"

"Goronwy bitches about him," said Maelys.  "He isn't a kept man?" she asked.  "But you buy him pretty things!"

This was technically true, although mostly she paid him in actual money.  "It's not as though I pretend he's _mine_ or anything," she said, annoyed that they were even _having_ this conversation.  She wished they were still talking about Koschei the Deathless' interior decorating tastes.

"Well, if he isn't yours, how about telling me how I can meet him?  I could use a pretty blond boy to spoil," Maelys said, grinning.

"He's not... I mean... would you just... he's not taking new clients," Clio snapped, flustered.  It was really difficult to deal with incredibly stupid underlings when your natural instinct was to hit them until they agreed with you.  "Anyway!  I think we should keep focused on the plan here.  Because that's really what matters."

"Right, yes," said Maelys, brightly.  "So you kill your boyfriend and then what?" she prompted.

"He's _not my boyfriend_," Clio snapped.  "...You know what?  This isn't going to work.  Goronwy needs his horse back anyway.  Get on your goddamn thestral, take Goronwy's with you, and report back to Bjornarbitholm.  Give them our position.  I will do this _alone._"

"Oh come on," whined Maelys.  "I always have to leave --_ this is why everyone thinks I'm a coward!_" she cried.

"Maelys, shut up, everyone's going to hear you," she snarled.  "_Nobody_ thinks you're a coward.  Everyone thinks you're just bloody _stupid_.  Now _get out of here_ before I throw you out, because I'm _going_ to lose my temper if you keep pestering me."

Maelys looked blankly at her.  "Well, but, I --"

"_Get out,_" repeated Clio, dragging her off to the stables.  "That's an order.  You don't have to follow orders from me like you do from Lady A., but I'll be _really pissed off _and I'll let _her_ come up with the punishments."

Maelys gulped.  "Right.  I'll go tell them where you are, and, er... that you're in good health, and -- and if you don't come back, I'll tell sweet Leander where you've --"

"_Go,_" snarled Clio.  "And don't be seen."  She turned and left the stables before Maelys could respond.

Clio took a shaky breath.  She could do this.  It was like the old days, hunting hags and werewolves in the city.  She watched as Maelys led her thestral out and took off, then carefully went to lock the cell door where she'd been kept, and picked her way towards the storage room, where she could hear the sounds of merriment coming from the hall.  She would wait there until she was certain everyone was asleep, and then she would kill four people and hold the other two hostage.

She couldn't help but think, as she sat herself down on a crate in the corner, that what she'd _really_ like was to be back in Bjornarbitholm, fighting bears.

 


	26. Chapter 26

The walking treehouse had reached water halfway through supper, and, although Helga and Sindri had had to excuse themselves briefly to get it to start swimming, it was a much smoother ride from there on out, at least physically.  Rowena had had a decent night, for once, and even if conversation was awkward between Helga and her stupid useless father and her boring evil half-sister, she was so glad Helga was _there_, and Godric was _alive_, and Ari was _out_ of that place, that she had had a good time anyway.

But that night in the Aura barracks, where they had all gone to bed, Rowena couldn't sleep.  She kept thinking about what she'd said to her mother, and about how powerfully she'd meant it, and then she thought about what was going to happen when they got back to the castle.  Lord Salazar would be angry, and Helga... well, hopefully there was still a way to put some sort of spin on this and blame Rowena for any attempted assassinations.  That way, at the very least, if Lady Aeaeae made a fuss about it, she'd look like a hypocrite.

This struck her as amusing, and she stifled the giggling badly.  She began to cry again, and that was easier to do silently.  Considering the snoring she could hear from the others, nobody was awake to hear at any rate.  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

But then she heard someone hiss "_Stupefy!_" from where Helga's father was sleeping, and she froze.  It was a good spell to use on people who were already asleep if you thought you might be making a lot of noise later.

She kept very still, and listened for her life.

A heartbeat where a footstep might be.  "_Stupefy._"  That would be Grimhildr, on the other side of the aisle.

Four heartbeats.  "_Stupefy._"  Ari.  There was nobody across from him.

Three and a half and she felt movement and warmth as though somebody was standing over her, and she grabbed her wand from beneath her pillow and _sat up._  "_Stupefy!  Lumos!  Petrificus Totalus!_"

The only spell that was any use was the Lumos, which showed her Cliodna Sheffield's startled face for a brief instant.  She heard a crash as Sheffield backed into Helga's bed and a scream that was probably Helga.  She wished now that she hadn't cast the damned Lumos, because for all that her eyes were terrible, she saw well in the dark if she was acclimated to it.  Sheffield had run back towards the doorway and Rowena cast one good Severing Charm in her direction, but she could tell she'd _missed_, because all she heard was a loud slam, then the splintering of the door as her hex ran into it.

She chased after Sheffield, following her into the night.  She was barefoot and hardly dressed and it was bloody _cold_, but because they were so far north, the sun was hovering just over the horizon disinteredly, casting long shadows.  "Sheffield, you _bitch_, get back here and fight!" she snarled.  Where _was_ she?

A shadow moved, or possibly Rowena was just having paranoid hallucinations.  She sent a Stinging Hex at it anyway, and was gratified when she heard a gasp of pain.  Sheffield limped out of the shadow, looking rather the worse for wear, and Rowena raised her wand to disarm Sheffield.  "You're going to kill me, are you?" she asked.  "I don't think so.  _Expelliarmus!_"

Rowena realized her mistake a split second later, as Sheffield's wand _and her sword _came flying straight at her face.

"_Protego!_" shouted Helga from behind her, and both wand and sword clattered to the ground.  "What are you _doing?_" she demanded of Rowena, not taking her eyes off of Sheffield.  "Don't go disarming people with _blades!_  That's a good way to lose an eye, or a hand!  Or a _head_."

Sheffield, for her part, had frozen where she stood.

"_Well?_" Helga demanded.

Sheffield's mouth moved, but no words came out.  Finally she said, "I surrender," and put her hands up, limping forward a little more.

"Good," said Helga.   "Thank you.  Now, we'll see about treating your leg but if you'd... just put your hands together --"

Sheffield did so, and Helga went to tie her wrists together, but Sheffield_ kicked_ her in the stomach with the leg she'd been limping with before and ran, perfectly capably, to the stables.  Rowena ran to help Helga up.  "Are you all right?" she asked.

Helga was swearing, something she did very little of, although apparently she had quite a filthy mouth when she put her mind to it.  After a very impressive and detailed description of how Sheffield's father had had relations with a manticore (which Rowena decided to remember for future use), Helga managed to sit up and grab her wand.

Sheffield emerged with a thestral, a great black hulk of leather and bone and shadow, and, climbing onto its back, took to the air as soon as she was in the courtyard.

"_Bracchius!_" shouted Helga, pointing her wand at the swiftly-escaping Aura.  Huge branches emerged from the treehouse to sweep at the thestral and rider, but the blur zoomed downwards to strike at them.  "DUCK!" shouted Helga, knocking Rowena over.

Rowena managed to break her fall without breaking her wand.  She looked over her shoulder, and saw that Sheffield had managed to grab her sword in the first charge.  She was coming around for a second, armed charge.

"_Protego!_" said Rowena quickly, shielding herself and Helga.  Sheffield glanced harmlessly away from them, but she readied her wand, presumably for some shield-breaking hex.  She began to fly around again -- perhaps her hex needed momentum.

Helga, meanwhile, was concentrating entirely on the branches of the trees.  She seemed to be trying to unhorse Sheffield, and Rowena boggled at her.  "You're going to _kill_ her if you keep doing that," she said.  She squinted at Sheffield again.  "The woman's _mad,_" she added, "and I don't say that lightly."

"The woman's under orders to bring us in," said Helga, "and she swore an Unbreakable Oath.  I don't think she has much of a choice but to be mad."

"But she couldn't _possibly_ \--"  Rowena looked up.  She screamed and grabbed Helga, because _oh gods Sheffield's sword was glowing _and she was coming _right at them._ "_Protego protego pro-fucking-tego!_" she shouted.  It wasn't working, Sheffield's blade was far too close, and then a giant tree branch came out of bloody _nowhere_ and swept her clean away.  It had smelled like turpentine and the sea, and it had nearly swept Rowena's wand away too.

Rowena watched in terrified silence as the horse and its rider became a dark speck against the sky once again.  Or perhaps two specks.  It was hard to tell.  She began to breathe again, and released Helga.  "Gods," she said.  "I hope she's all right."

Helga stared at her, looking absolutely exhausted and a bit gobsmacked.  "_Why_ would you hope _that?_" she demanded.

"Well.  You don't want to _kill_ anybody," said Rowena, trying to be reasonable.

There were heavy footsteps from behind them, and Godric emerged from the main building, looking off-balance and muzzy.  He had left the meal first, having managed to stuff himself with immense quantities of food only to wander off to the Council Chief's quarters, which had a bed he almost fit into. "Everything all right?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.  He looked innocent and sleepy.

"Everything's fine," said Rowena, quickly.  Helga had probably just killed the woman he was misguidedly fond of, and gods, she could _not_ handle Godric's reaction to that tonight.  "I was just, er, sleepwalking," she said.  "Helga saved my life!"  That much, at least, was true.

"She was about to walk out of the treehouse," said Helga, sounding terrifyingly believable.  "Can you _imagine?_"

"Oh god," said Godric, horrified.  "That would've been _awful_.  No wonder you were shouting so much."  He shuddered.  "I'm going back to sleep.  Wake me up in a few days, all right?"

He left, and Rowena looked at Helga, despairingly.  "What are we going to tell him?" she whispered.

"Nothing," said Helga, shrugging.

"But he really _liked_ her," said Rowena.  "I don't know _why_, but... but he should _know,_" she said.

"Well, then, the less he knows, the better," said Helga, gently.  "Maybe that nice selkie girl in Wyke will still be there.  And I'm going back to bed too, I'm exhausted."  She turned and walked back inside.

Rowena didn't end up getting _any_ sleep that night.  She lay awake, wondering how to tell her favorite rival about what her best friend had done to her archnemesis.  Life was complicated sometimes.

* * *

When Godric awoke the next morning, he knew it was going to be a _brilliant_ day.  The sun was up, the air smelled like the sea, and he had had a decent night's sleep.

He emerged from the big bedroom, rubbing his eyes sleepily.  He hurt all over, but it was kind of a good ache.  An uncharacteristically sunny little voice in his head said _Godric, you have just survived worse things than most people have ever gone through!  God willing, it will _never happen again._  Go and greet the day!_

He wanted very much to listen to the voice, so he wandered into the hall, expecting a cheerful atmosphere.  Instead, everyone but Ari was gathered very worriedly along the long table, looking over a diagram, which Helga seemed to be explaining.

"Godric!" she said.  "Thank goodness you're awake!"

"...Yeah," said Godric, with an uncertain smile on his face.   _Your friends love you!  What a lovely morning this is,_ said the voice.  The rest of Godric said _You're new here, aren't you?  _His smile faltered, then fell completely.  "What do you want me to do?" he sighed.

"Well, the thing is, we're sort of... sinking," said Helga, grimacing.  "I sent Ari to check for leaks but we're working on a solution now."

"Oh.  Is that all?" Godric asked, relieved.  "I thought it was something _serious,_ like the Aurae had caught up to us."

"How could you _possibly_ help us with _that?_" Rowena asked, frowning at him.

Godric shrugged.  "Really, I don't know.  It was just the worst thing I could think of happening."

"Worse than _sinking?_" asked Grimhildr.

"Well, let's see what's wrong with the ship... treehouse thing," said Godric.  "May I?"  he asked, gesturing at the diagram.

Helga shrugged and gave it to him.  "I can't do anything about it now," she said.  "The trees are dying, and I can't control them very well anymore, so I think we're going to need some transfig, and Sind-- er.  My father hasn't got very far with it."  She looked worriedly at Sindri, who was marking up his own copy of the diagram at the other end of the table, out of earshot.

 Godric frowned at the diagram.  "Hmm.  Well.  I don't really know how to make it more floaty," he said.  "But it's not sinking _fast_, right?"

"Probably it'll take a few days," she said, "but we also can't steer well anymore, so..."

"But we have supplies," said Godric, calmly.  "Worst case scenario, you lot fly the thestrals off to the nearest land and work something out to get me out, right?"

Helga and Rowena exchanged a meaningful look.

"...What?" Godric asked.  "The thestrals.  There were two of them in the stables when we stole this place.  Don't tell me you didn't see them, I _know_ you did.  Or am I mad?"

"The, er, the Aura took them with her," said Rowena, awkwardly.  "Maelys, I mean, you know, the one we locked up.  Not any other Aura."

"How'd she get out?  Oh _no,_" said Godric, realizing suddenly what this meant.  "We're lucky she didn't kill us in our sleep!  They probably know where we are now.  I mean, it was sort of obvious but and now we can't get away and but then I."  Godric looked at the diagram.  "...All right.  We should... fix this.  I'll try to be clever.  Or we're all going to die."

"No pressure," said Helga, cheerlessly.

He sat down at the table, moaning quietly to himself.  "If I just... jumped off into the sea, would the decrease in our weight allow the rest of you to make it to land, do you think?"

"Doubtful," said Rowena.  Now that he really looked at her, she looked _awful_ \-- like she had been up all night crying.  She'd seemed happy last night -- friendly, and delighted he was alive, even -- but Godric supposed everything that had happened yesterday must have hit her hard.  Poor Rowena.  "You're more useful here," she said, with a tired, brittle sort of chirpiness.  "I was thinking possibly we could make a sort of boat out of the wood from the trees.  Do you think you can manage that?" she asked.

"I think we could do it, yes," said Godric.  "We've got _plenty_ of materials, right, Helga?  The wood, I mean, the trees are still underneath the tower?"

Helga nodded.  "They're still here, just dying fast.  I think it's the saltwater."

"Oh good," said Godric.  "The main problem, then, is... well.  I don't know how to build a ship.  I hope... er... your dad knows --"

"_I_ know," said Grimhildr, rolling her eyes.  "My mother builds ships, and sometimes she makes me help.  Or she did when I lived with her.  Father's really only good at theory, he's no good at _applied_ magic."  Her words had the sound of an argument someone had repeated so often she believed it.

"Or that could work too," said Godric, relieved.  Helga had always made it very clear that her father, for his own health, had better be dead, so having him along for the trip was weird and unpleasant.  On the other hand, Godric was fairly comfortable with sullen, maladjusted teenagers.  "What sort of information do you need to come up with a design?"

"It will be a _very_ rough design," said Grimhildr.  "I mean, I've never actually... well.  I _think_ first off I should know how much wood we have, and then how heavy this place is --"

"We can get rid of bits of it," said Rowena quickly.  "I mean, the stone and all is probably a bit heavy, and the _armory_, and, well...."  She sighed.  "Sindri was _supposed_ to be working out where we are, and if we know that we can work out where we'll _probably_ _maybe_ land, eventually, and how long it'll take us to get there, so once I know that I can tell you how much food we'll need.   Tell us what sort of weight you _can_ carry with the materials we have and I'll work towards cutting down on the actual materials here.  Then Godric can transfigure the wood and hopefully we'll be on our way," she finished, brightly.

"Sounds good," said Helga.

Godric, however, was still worried about Rowena.  He hadn't been insulted _once_ today, and he'd been awake for at least ten minutes.  Even if yesterday had been awful, it wasn't like her.  "That works," he said, shrugging.  "So, er, Helga, tell Grimhildr about her supplies, and I suppose then we'll ask Sindri where we are.  Listen, Rowena, can I talk to you about the charms work I think we might need?" he asked, drawing her away from the table.

"...What charms?" she asked, following him.  She looked confused.  "I've been working on a waterproof air bubble, but I don't think that will --"

"Rowena," he said, keeping his voice low.  "Is everything all right?  You look awful."

"Oh, _thanks_," muttered Rowena.

Godric sighed.  "I didn't mean -- I just -- you look unusually tired, is all, and sort of -- well -- you haven't even been insulting me," he said.  "That's not normal!"

"I'm fine," she sighed.  "I just... I said some really stupid things to my mum when she was interrogating me, and -- look, you could have died, that's all, and you were very..."  She looked as though she was struggling to admit something shameful.  "You were nice to me when we were stuck together, so... I thought I ought to try and be less terrible."

"Oh.  Is that all?  It's really unnerving," said Godric.  "I mean, if I'd been through what you have, I'd be upset too, but usually when you're under stress you get sort of ...well, awful."

"That's all the thanks I get?" Rowena asked.  "I'm making an effort here!  You've said at least ten things I could make a cheap joke about, and I've been _resisting_.  _Nobly._  Like a _good person._"

"Well, you _are_ a good person," Godric pointed out.  "You're just very unpleasant about it.  Anyway," he said, "I don't see why you should be dwelling on nearly getting me killed.  I mean, your mum would be so _proud_ if she knew the degree to which you've nearly caused me permanent harm or death."

She blinked at him, and then she started laughing.  "She probably wouldn't, you know, I never succeed in actually harming you.  She always said I would never be a success."

"Well, you're probably not trying hard enough," said Godric, lightly.  "You're descended from _gods, kings, and heroes_, you ought to act like it!  Shape up!"

She giggled.  "Did she actually say that?  She _did_, didn't she?  Oh gods, Mum.  She's _so embarrassing._"  But she seemed much more cheerful, and Godric was glad to have done that much.

"At any rate," he said, "I suppose we'd better talk to Helga's dad about the navigation.  ...Is this really weird for you too?" he asked.  "I mean.  Helga's dad."

"Gods, yes," she said, sounding relieved to discuss it.  "I always wanted to hurt him a little, you know, for doing _that_ to my best friend.  I hoped he was dead for Helga's sake, but... he seems sort of _pathetic_, honestly," she said.  "Pathetic and horrible."

"Well, let's try to get some sense out of him," he sighed.  "Maybe we can kick his arse when we get to land."

"Cheerful thought," said Rowena.  "I get first dibs."

"Of course!" said Godric.  "Ladies first."

To Godric's astonishment, and also (he had to admit) his terror, all the calculations and adjustments and enchantments moved along startlingly quickly -- not surprising, given that it _was_ a sinking treehouse full of magical theoreticians, really -- but they were all going to sink or float based on his spell.  The problem was, as far as he could tell it was very likely that the whole thing would go wrong, and, in fact, that he would make it worse.  So he was trying not to panic _while_ simultaneously trying to understand what Grimhildr was saying about the ship, and it was all driving him a bit mad.

He realized he'd probably been at the school far too long, actually, because he'd found himself slipping into student lecture mode at Grimhildr.  She didn't seem to _mind_, and was shockingly ignorant as to how Transfiguration worked -- she had seemed to think of it as a hit-or-miss matter of luck rather than something that could be predicted and controlled, like other magic, but she seemed pick things up rather quickly once he'd started explaining at her, and threw herself enthusiastically into helping him work out some of the trickier steps of his spell.

In fact, when Ari had come out of the water, after having descended to make be certain that all six legs of the walker were still attached, he took one look at Grimhildr, who was humming to herself and drawing up a diagram, and asked Godric if he'd transfigured Grimhildr into another person.  "Or is it Cheering Charms?" he asked.

Ari was drenched, so Godric handed him his cloak.  "She's very clever, I do like how she's set this up -- she has a good head for Transfiguration, it's a pity she never learnt it properly."

"I had noticed she was clever," said Ari.   He wrapped Godric's cloak around his shoulders like a blanket.  "I am _so_ glad I won't have to marry her now," he said.

Godric blinked.  This was the second time Ari had said he was supposed to marry Grimhildr.  He knew Ari had been accused of playing the woman's part in bed, and Rowena had once mentioned that she and Ari had similar taste in men.  It was not Godric's business exactly what kind of sodomite Ari was, but even if it was to be a marriage of convenience, it seemed most unwise to marry someone who actively hated you.  Besides, Grimhildr was common.  "Why _did_ you have to marry her?" he asked.

"She is magically powerful, and my father thought to keep that sort of power in the family..."  Ari shrugged.  "A responsible man marries and has children, for his family's sake.  I suppose that makes me irresponsible now."  He frowned, and looked out at the sea as if he could see the family he'd left behind even now.

Godric thought of his own family; he had fond memories of his parents from when he was very young, but, well, his father hardly spoke after Mum died.  Godric didn't know if he'd left Geoffrey in charge, or if Geoff had just done what needed doing.  "I suppose what's responsible depends on the man," he said.  "But Grimhildr sort of hates you.  Wouldn't that have been a problem?"

"Well," said Ari, "I went out of my way to make her hate me, to be honest.  For some time, I thought I was in love with --"  He sighed.  "With someone else.  It would have been impossible, of course," he said.  "You know, _you_ could do worse than Grimhildr, and she seems not to hate you.  Of course, she is not well-born.  But," he said, dismissively, "I suppose neither are you."

Godric looked at Ari in astonishment.  "Sorry.  I.  _What?_"

"Are you not going to be on the Wizards' Council?" he asked airily.

"What?  Oh, that," said Godric, rolling his eyes.  "We'll see.  What does that have to do with -- with _Grimhildr?_"

"Well," said Ari, reasonably, "you will need heirs.  Certainly they ought to be from a lady either of reasonably noble birth or notable magical power."

"Well.  But.  I."  This had not occurred to Godric.  Though he'd always been jealous of the likes of Rowena, with their fine clothes and regular meals and enough money to buy books and candles as well, and though, as he'd told Rowena, he'd wanted a family very much, he was certain that was quite impossible, what with being cursed and giant and monstrous, and also, perhaps even more importantly, being terrified of women and romance.  But all this had very little to do with anything.  "I.  But Grimhildr isn't -- I would _never_ \-- she's a _kid,_" he said.

Ari shrugged.  "I only thought to offer.  And she could do worse than you.  You are sensible.  And practical.  And clever."

Godric shrugged.  "Well, I don't know about that," he said.  "Anyway, if I do make it onto the Council, Clio might -- she might be -- still interested," he said, although considering all the trouble he was causing her, this seemed highly unlikely.

"The dashing Aurelia Sheffield?" he asked, sounding skeptical.  "I think she would make a very poor wife."

"I just meant --"  Godric felt himself blushing again.  What, was Clio going to be his _mistress?_  Again, this seemed unlikely.  "Maybe if Lord Slytherin's plan works out she'll be working for him -- that is how it works, right?" Godric asked.  "The Aurae transfer loyalty to the next Chief.  ...Of course, by then she'll probably have moved on and I don't even know if she -- I mean, why _me_, there are plenty of other men and besides I'm really horrible-looking, and she would never want to, you know, so I don't even know what she could even --"

"You are definitely not horrible-looking," Ari snapped.  He turned a bit pink.  "...Er.  You ought to get back to your spell, I should go... do some... er.  ... I must speak with Rowena, to see if she needs any help," he said quickly.

"Oh, he gave you his cloak, Ari!  So kind of him," said Grimhildr.  Godric thought she was being sarcastic.

"Oh, leave me alone," he snapped at her.  He pulled the cloak around his shoulders and left in a huff.

"He does like the sensible sort," said Grimhildr.  "But they never like him, and I can see why," she said, cheerfully.  "I'm _so_ glad I don't have to marry him, he is _awful_ with money.  Be careful of that."

"I don't think it'll be an issue," said Godric.  "I mean, I'm not going to lend anything to him, because I haven't anything to lend.  ...Well, I did give him my cloak, but I don't need it back."  He examined her parchment, which had a numbered list of parts of the eventual ship.  "Oh dear.  How quickly will we sink if I don't do this transfiguration properly, do you think?"

"No idea," said Grimhildr.  "I think it would depend on what you do wrong.  But if you do it in that order it would be the safest way."

"Are you ready, Godric?" Helga asked.

Godric waved her away, looking at the list.  "I _think_ I can manage this."  He glanced at Grimhildr's scribbled diagram of the proposed ship, and Helga's original diagram of the treehouse.  "Can I switch numbers seven and twelve, though?" he asked her.

"...If you do it very quickly, I _think_ it will work," said Grimhildr.

"Well then, I'll see if I can make it work," said Godric.  He realized everyone was staring at him hopefully, and the bottom of his stomach dropped out.  "Ah.  So," he said, trying to stay calm, although inwardly he was _terrified_, "I think I've got everything pretty much worked out.  Er.  But.  Possibly not.  So everybody... say your goodbyes before I start.  Um.  This is going to be complicated by the fact that I can't see what I'm changing, so what I'm going to do is --"

"...Are you _lecturing_ at us?" Rowena asked.  "Is there going to be an exam?"

"It _helps_, all right?" Godric snapped.  "This is terrifying."

"You'll be all right," said Rowena.  She sounded like she _meant_ it.  "_This_ is the difference between clever and educated."

"Oh," said Godric, blinking.  _He_ was the clever one?  She must've meant something else.

"Look at it this way, Godric," said Rowena.  "If you do it wrong, no one will be able to yell at you for it."

"Because we'll all _die_," Godric pointed out.

"I really think I would be able to manage _some_ shouting before I drown," said Sindri, sounding annoyed.

"_No one,_" snapped Rowena, who looked as though she was planning on chucking Sindri off the ship as soon as there was one.

"Yes, well, I suppose I'd better get on with it," said Godric.  He ran through everything in his head -- the hull first, of course, which would be made of the trees holding the tower up, and then he'd have to draw the legs of the treehouse through the hull to make up the rest of the ship, which would be the really tricky part, and he'd have to do it _fast_ or they might sink quickly or tip over or something, and then he'd have to get all the rooms of the siege tower into a boat.  It wouldn't be a very sturdy ship, he didn't think, but it'd last them to Wyke.  "I'm going to go out into the courtyard," he said.  "You'd all better come outside too, but stay away from me or you might end up in the rigging or something."

He walked out into the courtyard and began measuring things in paces.  Then he realized, as he did every time something was measured in paces, that he was just not meant to measure things.  He sighed and called Grimhildr over to measure it out for him.

Finally, he thought everything had been worked out, and, more importantly, he had run out of things to do to avoid the transfiguration.  So he took a deep breath and began.  The method he was using was something he'd developed on his own for big things he couldn't see as he was changing them.  He didn't know if it was really good or healthy for him to be doing it, because it took a lot out of him, but, well, he'd see, wouldn't he?

So he took a deep breath, and he went to the edge of the courtyard to look off into the water, and he examined Helga's diagram of the treehouse, and Grimhildr's diagram of the ship once more.  Then he thought of himself as the trees.

They felt brittle and incoherent and uncooperative, and the water was cold, cold, cold, and he told them, _We're going to change things around here, now just bear with me._  That _me_ was the hard thing; he had to be the trees and himself at the same time, but it was no more difficult than being Godric the monster and Fudge the Transfigurator had been, so he concentrated.

The roots bent in towards each other, like fingers interlacing, and they spread themselves into a smooth curve, to better cut through the water, but the hull was still full of water and Godric could feel the waterline creeping upwards, so _cold_, and so, gritting his teeth, he said, "Rowena, help, what's the -- water in the hold, do the thing with --"

He felt her small hand on his own, and though it shocked him a bit -- he was busy trying to be trees -- it reassured him.  "We'll put some in barrels and make it freshwater later," he heard Rowena say, and suddenly the hold was mostly empty, and sinking slowed.

But he -- the _ship_-he, not Godric-he -- still wasn't the right shape, not yet.  The tops of the trees spread out, the supporting logs spread out into a wooden deck, and the siege tower found itself submerged halfway into the deck and made into rooms and hammocks below deck.  But the sinking hadn't finished.

Godric himself searched the hull for wounds -- holes, he corrected himself -- and feeling none, he realized the problem was in the stone of the siege tower.  At this thought, he stopped being the ship, and snapped back into himself, staggering backwards, away from the new railing.  He saw the sea with his human eyes, and it was getting much too close.  "Rowena," he said, his voice sounding strange and unplantlike, "Rowena, what's the -- goddamn it, I can't remember -- _Transfiguration_," he snapped at himself, rubbing his forehead.  "Got to get this turpentine out of my skull."

"Are you all right?" Rowena asked, worried.

"I'm not _trees,_" he said.  For some reason she didn't appear to find this very reassuring.  "The stone!  It's too much, I can't -- I can't be stone, I can't turn it into -- I'm trees, I don't have _words_ \--it's too much.  Dense!"

Her eyes widened.  "The stone's too heavy," she said, "and we're sinking, and -- get back to dealing with the ship, I'll take care of it."  She frowned at his notes, and began to mutter to herself.  "...so that'll be -- oh _gods_, assuming the worst, one and a bit stones per hand cubed... fifteen hands thick at _least_ \-- relative outer radius, shit, got to be at least -- two pi are, thickness, height, oh damn it what's the -- A_HA!_  All right, Godric, I can do this.  I'm going to turn it into pumice and jettison the excess stone out there somewhere," she said, waving vaguely backwards.  "Ooh, or we could make lifeboats!  Or little floating _statues!_"

By this point, Godric had only just managed to wrap his mind around _I'll take care of it._  He did not quite know what statues were.  "Rowena, you're the best," he managed, before taking hold of the half-formed ship in his mind again.

Whatever Rowena was doing was working, because the ship stopped sinking, and began to ride higher in the water.  He brought the four needle-covered pine trees together into the center of the deck, dodging people and other obstacles, and made them into a mast, then worked his mind into the hearts of the needles and unfurled them into great green sails.

And that was it, really.  He didn't _feel_ totally unbalanced.  Quite seaworthy, actually.  Shipshape.  And much lighter than before.

He opened his eyes and came back to himself.  ...Much lighter than before.  Everything was so _spinny_ and _bright._  Being himself wasn't usually like this, was it?  It was strange to have legs again.  Legs were very unstable things.

He had words back, at least.  He focused on Rowena, who was standing in front of him, beaming at him.  "Oogh.  Sorry about that.  I wasn't... myself."

"I _know,_" said Rowena, grinning. "You said _I_ was the _best._  You're usually completely unobservant about that sort of thing."

"Not half bad," said Grimhildr, walking the deck of the ship.  "Could be worse.  Should get us into port."

"Not half bad?" asked Ari.  "That was _brilliant._  He's a _genius_."

"See, I knew he'd be fine," said Rowena, cheerfully.  "This is _nothing _for him, he's got _all this magic_, and he hardly ever uses it because he's a huge useless wimp.  Thanks for doing it the right way and not killing us all," she told him.  She frowned.  "Are you all right?"

"Headache," Godric said.  "And everything's _spinny_."  He waved a hand in front of his face.  "See?"

"Post-over-spell exhaustion," said Rowena.  "I was surprised you didn't have that problem yesterday, actually.  ...Or the day before, really, they all sort of blend into each other in my head.  Perhaps you've finally overdone the magic a _bit._  Don't do anything more today, all right?"

"Yeah.  Sounds good," said Godric, weakly.  He looked down and realized the newly-made deck was approaching him.  That probably shouldn't be happening, he thought.  He wasn't transfiguring the ship anymore.  But then he realized he was falling, and while he was vaguely aware of worried voices, he couldn't really keep his eyes open.

 


	27. Chapter 27

Clio didn't know where she was, but she was sleepy and it was comfy.  She had had a nightmare about being cold and lost at sea, and she still almost felt as though she was bobbing in the water, only it was nice and warm here, and it smelled familiar and slightly perfumey.  And these pillows were really soft.

She tried to remember the nightmare.  There had been something important about it, she though.  It had been about ...politics, somehow.  And bears.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, at which point sudden pain shot down her spine and the nightmare coalesced into actual comprehensible memories of the mess in Norway.  She yelped, and tried to assess her level of injury.  Pain when she moved her back and right shoulder, her left arm in a cast, and her right covered in bandages up to the palm, and a lot of what felt like bruising all around, but as far as she could tell, she had all her limbs.

She had been swept off of her thestral and only just managed to hang on to the reins.  This arrangement being unsatisfactory for both horse and rider, the two had crashed into the sea shortly thereafter.  She remembered clinging to Barbara's side as the thestral swam, but this part was dreamlike and confusing; she remembered having a long conversation with her mother, who had been dead for years, and at any rate was not likely to have been floating around the middle of the North Sea even in life.

Clio rubbed her eyes carefully with her right hand and realized that Leander was standing over her with some concern.  He was _even_ wearing a tunic, something she had rarely seen him do.  "Good morning," he said, cheerfully.

"Please tell me the Wizards' Council isn't paying for my sex life," she said.  "That would be the second most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me."  His bedroom was just as she remembered it -- full of tasteful pretty things she wouldn't have known to buy, but Leander was a Squib from an otherwise decent family, so he had more taste than money.  He would probably make some wealthy merchantess a useful husband someday, but until then he was paying his way in the world with sex.

"The second most embarrassing thing?" Leander asked, raising an eyebrow.  "And no, you hadn't any family so apparently one of your Aurae suggested I watch over you while the Healer was busy with other patients.  Mind, I am charging her my usual rates, so no skin off my nose," he said.  He sat on the bed and leaned close to her, putting an arm around her.  "You were _very_ badly off when you came in, mind, I'm glad to see you awake."

She knew perfectly well that this was just how Leander _was_, but it always worked on her.  She leaned on his shoulder, closing her eyes.  "Well, I don't know how long I can stay awake," she said.  "Don't take it personally, all right?"

"Actually," he said, clearing his throat.  He sounded awkward now, not smooth and seductive.  "Actually, the Chief apparently did want to know where they were going.  The criminals you were after."

"...Oh.  God.  They haven't got them yet?"  She shook her head, trying to fight off the drowsiness.  "Who's taking care of it?  I should really --"

"No," said Leander, keeping her from trying to get up.  "You're in no state."

"But they'll -- Goronwy'll be in charge," she said.  "Or somebody _equally_ stupid."

"They said it was ...Perkinson and Bergfalk," said Leander, carefully pronouncing the names of her fellow Aurae.  "Are they stupid?"

"No, they'll be all right," said Clio.  "I don't know where they were going.  I think Wyke?  They left from there, I think they had Portkeys back to Lord Slytherin's castle.  Dunno why, they should've just gone to Inverleith or something."

"Inverleith?" said Leander, laughing.  He left her side to find a piece of parchment.  "But that's all the way in Scotland!"  Sitting at a little writing desk in the corner (where he usually wrote receipts, if they were demanded of him) he scribbled something out, then gave the parchment to his owl and held out his arm for the owl to climb onto.

"Well that's where they'll be running home to, the Highlands," said Clio.  "Too bad we can't just ambush them there, isn't it?"  God, she was tired.   She was talking strategy with a pretty Squib.  If she had the energy she wouldn't be wasting her time like this.

"Why can't you?" Leander asked.  He opened the window, and the owl went, presumably to tell the Aurae about Wyke.

"It's a _castle_," said Clio.  "It doesn't belong to us, it's well-defended."

"You could ambush them before they got there," said Leander.

She looked at him, exhausted.  "Leander, do I tell you how to do your job?" she asked.

He sat down on the bed next to her and grinned a bit wolfishly.  "Oh, often."

"That's _different_," she pointed out.  "Look, you don't have to talk to me, God only knows why Lady Aeaeae thought _you_ should look after me --"

"You haven't got any family," he pointed out.  He looked... concerned.  "You know, I do like talking to you," he said, putting his hand over her bandaged one.

"Oh, please," said Clio, rolling her eyes.  She was trying not to blush.  It wasn't like she wasn't _experienced_, he was just... very charming and rather unlike the men she usually ended up with.  Because she paid him to be.  "I know this must be pissing off your other regulars, you not being available."

"I _did_ have to make a few last minute referrals," said Leander, cringing more than smiling.  "I think they'll be happy, though.  You know, I don't usually like to talk business, but --"

"You have got somewhere else to sleep, right?" Clio asked.  "I mean, you don't sleep in _this_ bed, do you?"  It was a richly-appointed bedroom, certainly, but... well.  Clio couldn't really imagine a businessman like Leander sleeping at his place of work.

"Well," said Leander, and when his expression faltered, she realized he _did_ sleep here.  "...I was thinking," he whispered in her ear, "you're in no state for what you'd _usually_ want, but."  His hand, which had been on her knee, was now finding its way up her tunic and between her legs.

"_Leander_," she said, removing his hand forcefully.   "Are you all right with me staying here?  I could be moved to a _real_ hospital."

"You were going to be," said Leander, "but there were some... security concerns.  Besides, I've no other appointments today," he said, "and the bed _is_ big enough for the both of us."

"Fine, then," she said.  "Once you get sick of me, kick me out."  She put his hand right back where it'd been and pulled him in for a kiss.

"I'll try to be a gracious host," he said, and leaned into the kiss.

Clio was too fragile to actually fuck, apparently, which annoyed her mostly because Godric had acted the same way, but after they'd got each other off, she felt much better, and delightfully lazy.  "Where's my wand?  I'll clean us up," she said.

"You had better," said Leander, leaning over to grab it from the bedside table.  He handed it to her.  "The Healer's coming to check up on you this afternoon."

She stared at him.  "And you distracted me with _sex?_  _Abluere!_" she added, waving her wand.  Of course they were both still sweaty and flushed, but at least there were no incriminating stains or anything.  "She'll be _furious!_"

"...she will?" he asked, blinking.  "She's a Healer, not a priest."

"She's a _Healer_," Clio snapped.  "Healers hate all fun.  Trust me on this.  And she _is_ a priestess."

"Clio, your idea of fun is -- where're my hose and my shoes?"

"I think they ended up under the bed," she said.

"Ah, thanks."  He pulled his tunic on quickly, before diving under the bed.  "Your idea of fun," he said, sounding a bit muffled, "is fighting Inferi while hags in flying mortars cackle menacingly above you."

"In all fairness," she said, "Mama Yaga's on our side, sort of."

"She's a hag!  They eat babies!  She's menacing," said Leander, displaying what Clio considered to be an extremely simplistic idea of interspecies politics.  He scrambled into his hose and sat on the bed to get his shoes on.

"I don't really like babies," she said, considering how they might taste.  "I bet they're nutritious."

"Aren't you going to get dressed?" Leander asked, putting on his belt.  He examined himself in a looking-glass and began dashing about the room muttering "Comb, comb, comb," under his breath.

"...What, for the Healer?" she asked.  "Nah.  She's seen it all before and I'm not vain.  Comb's over here, by the way," she said, waving it at him from the bedside table.

There was a knock at the door.  "Fuck," muttered Leander, going to answer the door.

"Did that," said Clio, propping herself up on the pillows.  She winced slightly.  "Thanks, by the way.  Afternoon, Healer Kewesh."

Epione Kewesh was Lady Aeaeae's personal Healer, and also her distant cousin.  She had the same air of superiority, but lacked her cousin's cheer.  Lady Aeaeae always made Clio feel as though she ought to be grateful she didn't hold Clio's cloddishness against her, as though somehow she was lucky to stand in the presence of such a refined, gentle, well-born shark.  Healer Kewesh, although arguably a much better person on the whole, just made her feel like shit.

She glared at Leander, then looked at Clio disdainfully.  "You need to rest," she snapped.  "Or aren't you capable of restraining yourself?"

"I think I deserve a victory fuck," said Clio.  "I mean, I did almost die, didn't I?  Last thing I remember, I was floating in the North Sea."

Healer Kewesh sighed.  "I shudder to think the sort of diseases you'll catch from the company you keep," she told Clio.  "Nevertheless, I suppose you don't care about them yet.  You'll come running to me and you'll see what I mean then."

Clio knew spells to keep herself safe from anything Leander might've caught, and Leander's livelihood depended to some extent on his insistence upon protective measures, but she knew it was useless; Healer Kewesh liked to tell people what she thought of their slovenly and ungodly ways.  "I'll keep that in mind.  I'm sure my enemies will be happy to know that the greatest threat to my life is something itchy from the bloke with a nice arse I met last week in Rome.  Now can we please get on with the bit where you tell me how long I have to lie in bed doing nothing and when I can get back to making the world safe for the aristocracy?"

"Well, now that you're not frozen and passed out, and, apparently, back to your _usual_ self, I feel confident that you're going to live," said Healer Kewesh.  "Bones were broken in your fall, though, and they're still mending -- assuming you didn't hurt yourself again in a fit of lustful idiocy --"

"We were very careful, Healer Kewesh," insisted Leander.  "I'm a professional, I understand sometimes a full range of --"

"-- you should be ready to have that cast off in a week, and then you can restart your weapons practice _slowly_," said Healer Kewesh, ignoring Leander completely.  "I don't talk to Squibs, incidentally; yours should learn better manners."

Clio yawned loudly.  "You know, Healer, suddenly I'm just _really tired,_" she said.  "Could you tell Leander what I need to know?  He'll pass it on, I'm certain."

Healer Kewesh looked sharply at her.  "There's nothing else you need to know.  Stay off your feet.  Your horse is dead, by the way -- after that stunt you pulled we were astonished it even managed to get you to shore."

This startled Clio out of her faux exhaustion.  "Somebody put her down, then?  She didn't suffer?"

"...I suppose so," said Healer Kewesh, frowning.  "I don't know.  ...Would you like me to ask?"

"...No," said Clio.  The Healer looked relieved that she wouldn't have to bring bad news back.  "I bet Goronwy did.  He would do that sort of thing for me.  It's fine."

Healer Kewesh nodded.  "Well, then.  If that's all, I'll see you in a few days to ensure your healing's taking place as planned.  I assume someone will send me an owl if something goes wrong.  Good day."  She exited as quickly as she'd come in.

"I suppose she reads notes from Squibs, then," said Leander, a bit bitterly.

"She's a bitch," said Clio, rolling her eyes.  "Don't let her get to you."

"Not an issue," said Leander, though he looked upset.  He stretched out on the bed next to her and grinned lasciviously.  "We should put it behind us, though, don't you think?"

Clio snorted.  "As nice as your offer is, I actually _am_ tired.  Let me sleep, would you?  Go off and ...read poetry or something.  Whatever you do in your spare time.  ...what the hell _do_ you do in your spare time?"

"Whatever I like," he said.  He leaned down to kiss her forehead before standing.  "Sleep well; I'm going to make myself presentable and go out."

"Have fun, then," said Clio, pulling the blanket over her head with her less-bad arm.  She heard him walking around the room for a bit, but she was asleep before he left.

* * *

"-- so you see, Odysseus saw him grab the sword, and knew _perfectly well_ Achilles wasn't a woman," were the next words Godric heard clearly.

He became aware that he had a headache.  He seemed to be waking up, and he slowly realized that that meant the dream he'd been having wasn't really happening, which was too bad, because the Archangel Gabriel had been about to give him the secret to... something -- transfiguring metal, possibly?  Whatever it was, it had involved snidget eggs.  And a talking bear.  But now Rowena was talking about some bloke with a serious foot injury and he was never going to remember the dream anyway.  Pain thudded at the back of his head with every heartbeat and his mouth was dry as sand.

He opened his eyes.  "What the _hell_ are you talking about?" he demanded.  "Can I have something to drink?"

Rowena, who was standing over his bed _holding his hand_, gave a small but extremely startled shout and jumped backwards.  Almost immediately, however, her expression changed to one of joy.  "You're back!" she shouted.

"'Course I'm back, where would I go?" Godric asked.  "We're not dead, are we?  Did my spell work?  I mean, this isn't Hell, is it?  Have they stuck us in the same room in Hell?  That would be _just_ my luck.  At least we could break our way out.  You and me against Hell!  ...that could be sort of fun.  If you liked fighting."  He frowned.  "Please don't tell me we're in Hell.  I'm sick of fighting."

"We're in Wyke, actually," said Rowena.

"I could live with Wyke," said Godric.  "Is there a reason we didn't just go to Scotland?"

"Basil's meeting us there with the Portkey," said Rowena.  "The Aurae can ambush us en route to Lord Salazar's castle if we go over land, but if we get there by Portkey we won't have to risk it.  'Course, someone will have to get back to Scotland over land, but one of us is harder to find than all of us."

"How long have we been here?" he asked.  "Was I out for --"

"Two days.  We got in this afternoon; the ship's under some glamours to look like a proper ship," said Rowena.  "I wanted us to get a proper Healer for you but stupid Sindri said it wasn't worth the risk."

"Well, he's probably right," said Godric, "I mean, I'm _fine_ now."  He sat up.  "Oof.  Although.  Could do with something to drink.  And for the boat to stop rocking.  And spinning.  Is it spinning?"

"No," said Rowena, looking worried.  "You should have _told_ us the transfiguration was too much for you, Runty," she said.

"Well, obviously it _wasn't_, because I did manage it," he pointed out.  He frowned at her.  "Again, why are you being nice to me?"

"Well, you saved our lives, and you were just ill!" said Rowena, looking a bit hurt.  "What's wrong with being nice?"

"It just isn't like you," said Godric.  "It's a little creepy."

She glared at him.  "It's perfectly like me!  I'm completely nice!"

"Yeah, to Helga, not to _me,_" said Godric.  "Are you feeling all right?"

He made to put his hand on her forehead, but she ducked and swatted it away.  "Stop that," she snapped.  "I'm _fine.  _You're just an idiot."

"See, that's more like it," said Godric, reassured by this remark.  "Where are we meeting Basil?"

"Well, he doesn't _know_ we're being followed, so he'll probably be waiting for us right out in the open," said Rowena, rolling her eyes as though this was insufferably stupid behavior.  "Helga is the least recognizable of us, so I thought we might use some glamours to make her look a bit different -- hair, eyes, that sort of thing -- and she could go meet him and explain the situation."

She seemed eager to hear Godric's instant approval of the plan, but something worried him, and it took him a moment to remember what.  "...Rowena," he said, slowly, "do you know if Helga's ever had dealings with your mother before?"

Rowena frowned.  "Well, I mean, they've _met_, obviously.  Helga was a great supporter until Mum insulted Basil at that feast --"

"Yes, yes, I know," said Godric, "but, I mean... did she ever get things from your mother?"

"...Well.  She let Helga and Basil use this nice little plot of land, you know, for monster plant purposes.  It was sort of a wedding gift, I suppose.  But nothing she could use to spy on Helga, I don't think."  Rowena grimaced.

"That's not really what I'm worried about," said Godric.  He didn't really know how to say this to Rowena, but she needed to _know_.  "When she saved me, your mother was in the room."  Rowena looked pained.  "You know, it's all right if you're upset she might be dead," he said, gently.  "She's your mum, you're bound to feel --"

"I think she's probably fine, it's not really something I'm worried about," said Rowena.  "I mean, Helga didn't -- she didn't --"  She looked as though she was trying to wrap her mind around an unfamiliar concept.

"Well, she said -- Helga said -- and then your mum --"  He closed his eyes, and tried to remember.  "Your mum said something like 'I thought we had a deal,' and Helga said the deal was off or over or something.  To your mother."  He frowned.  "Which would imply that she _had_ been working with her _before__, _and changed her mind."

Rowena's glare of disbelief said it all.

"Look, that's just what I heard!" he said, defensively.  He rubbed his eyes.  He was still far too headachey and sleepy to win an argument with Rowena.  Not that he ever managed that, but this time he didn't even have a sporting chance.

"Obviously you heard _wrong_," snapped Rowena, crossing her arms.

"Well, I just think maybe we should ask her what it's about," said Godric.

"Ask her yourself, then," said Rowena.

"I did," said Godric.  "She wouldn't tell me."

"Well," said Rowena, not happy at all.  "Well, I think she's trustworthy.  I mean, maybe she was planning on sending my mum some... some flower bulbs, or something, and then when she tried to kill her..."  She trailed off, shrugging expansively.  "Well, the bulbs would be the least of her worries, wouldn't they?"

"I don't think your mum would bring up flower bulbs in the middle of an assassination attempt, Rowena," said Godric, frowning.

"Well you needn't sound so _snide_," Rowena said.  "Some of us _like_ our friends."

"And some of us think well enough of them to think they might have a reasonable explanation," said Godric.  "If they were asked."

Rowena looked confused, as though this had not occurred to her.  "...Well, yes, I suppose," she admitted.  She bit her lip.  "It seems... rude.  Like I'm doubting her."

"You're not," said Godric.  "_I'm_ doubting her.  It's completely different.  You're just... you're just trying to prove me wrong!" he said, seizing the idea that popped into his head.  "I mean, you don't believe me, obviously," he said.

"I don't," she said, apparently unswayed.

"But I'll keep believing it," said Godric.  "I mean, awfully suspicious what Helga said, don't you think?"  In truth, he was still certain there was a logical, non-evil explanation for what Helga had said, but that wouldn't help him goad Rowena, so he didn't add that caveat.  "You don't want one of your _best friend's_ friends and coworkers to be thinking she's some sort of evil, traitorous, _wicked_ \--"

"All _right_, shut _up_, I'll _ask_ her," she snapped.  "Stop _baiting_ me."

"Thanks!" said Godric brightly.

"You're wrong, you know," she said, glaring.  "As always."

"I'll believe it when I hear a perfectly reasonable explanation," said Godric.

"Which there is, definitely," said Rowena.  "I mean.  _Definitely_."

"Go and ask her while you're doing your glamours on her," said Godric, encouragingly.

"Maybe I _will,_" said Rowena defiantly.  She left without another word.  Godric, satisfied with a job well done, decided that he was going to go back to sleep until they needed him again.  Which, considering their record so far, would probably be far too soon.

* * *

Helga stood on the deck, looking out at the city of Wyke, probably happier to see it than anybody had ever been -- although in Rowena's estimation, this was not saying much.  She saw Rowena and turned to her.  "There you are!  D'you think I should go brunette or ginger?" she asked, half-joking, and looking the very picture of sweetness and light.

Of course, neither of these words would have been in Rowena's summation of her personality -- Helga was devious and brilliant, a bit mad, and always knew exactly what to say, whether it was completely awful and hilarious or just plain what Rowena needed to hear -- but it made Rowena feel immensely guilty just the same for doubting her.  "You've got the coloring for red, but I think it's a bit too attention-getting, don't you?"

"Hmm.  True," said Helga, frowning.  "It'll be _so _good to get home," she said, looking towards the shore again.

"I know!" said Rowena.  "I mean, _solid ground._  And _real beds._  And not having to worry about when Godric's going to faint again."

"Oh, be nice to him, he's saved our arses a lot lately," said Helga.  "And then fainted, but still.  I don't really think he has the constitution for heroism, but it's the thought that counts.  Although neither of you'd last a _minute _in a _real_ crisis," she said.

"Oh, really, what do you call what we just got out of, then?" Rowena asked.

"An unscheduled interruption, followed by a rather spectacular exit," said Helga.  "But Basil and I used to deal with _much_ worse things before we got married and when he was still human.  Freeing lands from evil necromancers, breaking curses.  Long as we got paid, it was fun," she said.  "What I did back there was Contingency Plan Three, _with_ a few small alterations."

"Really," said Rowena, skeptically.

"Well, all right, a lot of alterations," admitted Helga.  "Like, there weren't Aurae in it initially.  Or evergreens.  Or the whole... treehouse bit."

"So let me get this straight," said Rowena, having difficulty keeping a straight face.  "Contingency Plan Three was the whole treehouse bit, minus the treehouse."

"Well, yes," said Helga.  "I mean, there was a walker, only it was _deciduous,_ and didn't need an outside source and well _look_, the point is, I've got out of worse," she said.  "Not a big deal."

"Good," said Rowena.  She didn't want to move away from this topic, because if she did she had a responsibility to ask Helga about her mother.  Rowena didn't want to think about her mother, and she didn't want to think about how Helga'd killed Sheffield without a second thought -- not that Rowena _liked_ Sheffield, but you didn't just go around killing people.  You shouldn't, anyhow.  Sometimes you did, but remorse was a mark of humanity.

"Something wrong?" Helga asked, putting her hand on Rowena's arm.  Rowena realized she'd been fidgeting with her wand, turning it around and around in her hands.

"I -- look -- I think we have to tell Godric about --"

"No," said Helga.

"It just feels like _lying _to not tell him," said Rowena.  She frowned.  "Probably because it is.  Look, he'll -- he'll understand, probably, and if he doesn't, well, I mean, we _killed_ somebody, right?"  She was unwilling to look Helga in the eye, unwilling to say _You killed somebody_, even though Rowena had had no part in it.  To share the guilt was better, because Rowena didn't want to think ill of Helga, but she had quite a lot of practice thinking ill of herself.

"I killed somebody, you mean," said Helga, softly.  "Look, she would've kept coming after us, there was no way to get her to stop trying to recapture us.  It was the only way out."

"We could've taken her captive," said Rowena.

"Oh, yes, that worked out _so_ well the first time we tried it," said Helga.  "It's possible Sheffield broke her out, but then why would she have gone before we were attacked?  It doesn't make strategic sense.  Look, I'm sorry she's dead, but it was her or us, and I like us better," said Helga.  "That's all it comes down to."  She looked so calm saying this, so matter-of-fact, and Rowena shivered.

"Godric said you said something to my mother," she said, slowly.  "Before you nearly killed her.  Something about how you'd had a deal with her."

At this, Helga's serenity left her.  "What do you mean?" she asked.  "What does he say I said?  I was very tired, I don't really remember," she added quickly.  "You know I didn't mean to kill _her_," she said, "only she was torturing Godric --"

"I know, I'm not angry at you for that," said Rowena quickly.  "But you said your deal was off.  Godric says, at any rate," she added, uncertainly.

"But Godric was being tortured," Helga pointed out.  "And it's _Godric_ we're talking about.  I'm surprised he wasn't already out cold when I got there.  Besides, he's got an awful memory."

"So you didn't say that?" Rowena confirmed.

"Rowena," sighed Helga, "you don't think I'd work for that old bat for a _minute_, do you?  After what she's said about Basil and done to you?  I'm a little insulted, honestly."

"It's just that Godric said --"

"I mean, she _did_ try to bargain with me, and I probably said something like 'No, of course not, you're evil and horrible!' although I don't honestly remember, because I hadn't had any sleep and I was running entirely on nerves.  But probably Godric misheard," Helga said, too easily.

Rowena wanted to be convinced, but she wasn't.  Still, it was Helga's word against Godric's, and there was no question in her mind as to which of them she _wanted_ to believe.  "All right.  Sorry," she said.  "I shouldn't -- I just -- I don't know what I was thinking."

"That's all right," said Helga, too cheerfully.  Rowena thought she'd be more upset, but she just smiled.  Was Helga really that resigned to Rowena's madness?  "Now, glamour me up and I'll get us home!" she said.  "Well, I'll find Basil, and _we'll_ get us home."

Rowena banished her doubts forcefully -- Helga was just _nice_.  Forgiving!  She was all about forgiveness.  Rowena brandished her wand, trying to work out how to make Helga less noticeable.  "Promise I won't make you hideous!  Let's see now..."

* * *

Basil was being followed.  He found this game rather tiresome, as his followers kept getting into arguments about whether he was on to them or not, and in order to keep from letting on that he bloody well was, he had to listen to the stupid things they kept saying to each other without reacting.  He was currently doing this now, as the two of them hissed at each other, crouched on the rooftop above him, obvious and irritating as the pox.

"...don't have super hearing, don't be ridiculous," said the small one.  "That's daft."

"He doesn't need any, does he, the way _you_ clomp about," said the loud one.

They had local accents and weren't trying to kill him, so he knew they weren't from the Hunters' Guild.  Plus, they seemed to think werewolves were a lot more dangerous in human form than, well, humans, and that just wasn't very Hunters' Guild of them.  (Besides, humans were plenty dangerous; just ask one of the werewolves Basil had killed before being bitten.)  Basil did not, in fact, have _werewolf_ super hearing, because at the moment his ears were quite human, thank you very much.  His super hearing came from a spell he'd done this morning when he realized he was being followed by idiots.  It was a spell he tried to avoid using in cities, but this was a special circumstance.

He worried a bit that the followers had had something to do with Helga and the others.  Had they got into trouble?  He'd overheard some people in the market this morning passing along rumors that one of the Aurae was injured in battle over the North Sea and was near death, but nobody seemed to know who it'd been, just that Koschei the Deathless had mounted a bold naval attack -- unlikely -- or that the Leviathan had awoken to feast on wicked souls, and this was just God's judgment of the unholy pagan Lady Aeaeae and all who served her -- even less likely, and not a wise theory to discuss in public in any event; Basil had seen this man hauled off by the city's own Aurae Cuprorum for defaming the Chief and her Council.

"Where's he going, anyway?" demanded the small one.  "If we're going to keep following him like this all the way to the docks --"

"Shush!" snapped the loud one.  "He'll hear you!"

Basil decided to play with the idiots a bit longer before losing them completely; he'd go to the market and lose them in the crowd.  He wandered over there, careful to take side streets and back alleys, which were quieter, so that he could hear them scramble to keep up.  They were really not very good at this at all, and he briefly wondered if they might be decoys.  But then, Basil couldn't really see a strategic advantage for anyone in making him aware that he was being followed, and he'd probably only noticed them in the first place because he was habitually paranoid.  They could have trailed a layman around easily, probably.

He got the impression, listening to their whispered conversations as he went along, that they thought he was some sort of country bumpkin, which, as a born Londoner who'd chosen to leave the city, annoyed him rather a lot.  Just for that, he decided to cross a broad street just so they'd have to leave their comfortable roofs to keep up with him.

He browsed in the market for a while, not staying at one booth long enough to even look as though he was buying anything; he would have liked to say this was all part of his master plan to lose his followers, but really he was just having trouble concentrating, because one of the problems this hearing enhancement spell had was that it was rather more difficult to pick out _one _conversation when _everything_ was so damn loud.

Still, when a very familiar voice shouted "Lovely fresh cantaloupes!" from one of the fruit carts, Basil did notice it quite easily.  He stopped and turned, slowly, to the woman behind the cart.  She wore her mouse brown hair uncovered, as befitted an unmarried young woman, but aside from this small detail, she was definitely Helga.  With brown hair.  And looking extremely entertained by his surprise.

"_Well?_" Helga asked.  "Do you like the looks of my cantaloupes or not?"  She sounded more demandingly flirty than insulted.  Basil was having difficulty keeping a straight face.  He drew closer to the cart so that they could talk while she pretended to sell him melons.  Or possibly "melons."

"You couldn't have sold apples or something?" he whispered.

"What, out of season?" she asked, innocently.  "Even if I had the materials to grow them on such short notice, it'd be a bit unsubtle.  What are you worried about, then?" she asked.

"I'm being followed," he told her.

"A mirror, then!" she said, in her loud fruit-seller's voice.  "Polished silver straight from, er..."  She trailed off.  "Wherever they get silver from?"

"Lead, I think," Basil said.  He took the mirror, and carefully examined the people behind him in it.  The loud one was being lectured by the small one on something.  They didn't seem to be paying attention to him, but searching the crowd.

"Tall bloke, looks like some Veela blood in him, being complained at by a short, fat man.  ...They've spotted me, they're by the lady goldsmith over there," said Basil.

"I see them," said Helga.  "Are they wearing uniforms?"

"Aurae Cuprorum for Wyke, possibly?" said Basil.  "Not Hunters' Guild.  No idea why they'd be after me, though," he said, putting down the mirror and raising an eyebrow at her, to make his statement a question.

She cringed.  "Well, er."

"Things got hairy?" he asked.  He knew that guilty look; she always wore it when she'd done something justifiably extreme.  "You're back very early.  I didn't expect you for a few days."

She sighed.  "See, this is what happens when I have to deal with amateurs.  I love them, of course, Rowena and Godric both, but..."

"You can tell me about it when we're safe," said Basil.  "...And once you're blonde again.  It's not... _bad_, it's just _weird_."

She snorted.  "Well, I think you'd better lose your honor guard, but when you manage to get away from them, meet me by the docks.  We've got... a ship there, sort of, but it's charmed so don't try to find it yourself."

"Any thoughts on how to lose the coppers?" he asked.

Helga grinned.  "Buy two cantaloupes, a bolt of silk, some ladies' slippers, some cheap jewelry, and a very large parsnip," she said.

"Right, yes, they'll think I'm _very_ odd, have a good laugh, and you'll get some silk," said Basil, "but how does that help?"

"Let me finish!" said Helga.  "_Then_ you go to a brothel -- a nice one, mind, with a discreet exit somewhere -- and trade them what you bought for an inconspicuous change of clothes and letting you leave.  Your devoted followers will then think they understand your shopping list, and won't expect you to come out for a while.  They'll probably be watching the front entrance, but you'll have escaped before they make it 'round to the other exit, and with different clothes."

Basil considered this briefly.  "Bit expensive, slightly short on dignity," he said, "but you know, I think it'll work.  See you at the docks, then.  Love you."  He grinned.  "God, it's good to see you again."

She smirked, and gestured at their surroundings.  "Cantaloupes and all?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "I don't think I can respond to that properly in public," he said.  "You're just going to have to wait."

She laughed and handed him two cantaloupes that were about the same size, and said "See you at the docks, then.  Love you too, dear."

* * *

Helga waited anxiously by the docks, keeping her eyes peeled for Aurae of any flavor, and also for Basil.  When she spotted him, she wanted very much to run up to him, but she waited until he came to her, because he might still be being followed.  "Did you get rid of them?" she asked.

"They were cleverer than they looked, but yes," he said.  "Got into a scuffle with that short one -- I nearly _lost,_" he said, "but then I threatened to bite him and he ran away."

"Oh, _good,_" she said, and threw her arms around him, knowing it was safe.  "I missed you.  How was the full moon?" she asked.  "Wasn't it Sunday?  You must've left right after -- oh, Basil!  Are you all right?"

"I'm _fine,_" he said, reassuringly.  "That idiot Jasper was being a twit about it, of course, but nothing I can't deal with."

She knew that tone.  "How many black eyes did you give him?" she asked.

"Well, he only has two to begin with," he said, defensively.  "Anyway, _you_ nearly killed an Aura!  It's all over -- I mean, they're blaming it on sea monsters but I know you."

Helga's mood dimmed significantly -- this was going to get to Godric whether she wanted it to or not.  "She _survived_ that?" she asked, impressed despite herself.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"Come on, I'll tell you while we go to the ship," she said, sighing.  "And, look, Sheffield was self-defense -- she tried to kill Rowena and I, or at least --"

"Sheffield?  You nearly killed _Sheffield?_" Basil asked, stopping in his tracks.  "Helga!  That's not a safe thing to do!"

"Well, I'm not a safe person to be around," she said, trying to play it off as a joke.

Basil didn't stop being serious.  "What _happened?_"

Helga didn't really want to go into full detail, because she'd acted more than a little... unpleasant, back there.  "Well," she said.  "Look, the long and the short of it is it all went wrong, it was a trap, and I sort of made an attempt on Rowena's mum's life."

Basil seemed to be having trouble deciding on what to say, because he kept opening and closing his mouth.  Finally, he found his voice, and managed, "The thing is, I really wish I didn't have to say 'What, _again?_'"

"Well, she didn't make it easy on us --"

"Treason, Helga!" he said.  "That is not low-profile!  That is not the sort of thing you get out of by hightailing it back to the castle and having a surprise exam!  You _can't_ keep doing this, you're going to get yourself killed.  Or worse.  There _is_ worse, you do realize that, don't you?"

"Basil, don't shout," she hissed.

"We've talked about this," he said.  "You promised --"

"Rowena's life was in danger.  And Godric's too, I mean, but she's my _best friend._  What else could I do?"

He sighed.  "Sometimes people are just stupid.  You can't save everybody, you have to stop trying."

"Well, I didn't stop trying and I ended up _managing_ it," she said, grumpily.  "Plus my father and the half-sister I didn't know I had, so, you know what, _I_ think I did all right," she said.

"Please at least tell me Lady Aeaeae didn't notice your attempt to kill her this time?" said Basil.  "I mean, we'd all know if you'd actually succeeded."

Helga bit her lip.  "...Well.  I was actually fairly... overt.  In my defense," she said, "no one could have survived that fall!  I think she's _actually_ a demon.  You should've seen Rowena after we --"

"I don't _care_ about Rowena," said Basil.  "They _are_ going to hunt you down.  They're not going to stop.  We're going to have to go into hiding or something."

"There's got to be something I can do to fix everything," said Helga, sighing.  "I just... haven't thought of it yet."

"No, and you're not going to," said Basil, "because sometimes the solution is to _not_ do things."

"She would have killed Godric, and done worse to Rowena -- yes, there's always worse, and I couldn't  let her --"

"Why are _their_ lives more valuable than _yours?_" Basil demanded.

This caught her off-guard.  "...Look, that's not the point, Basil," she said.  "The point is --"

"No, tell me, why," he snapped.

"Well, there are two of them," said Helga.  "And I'm very fond of them."

Basil looked despairing.  "I like them too -- well, I mean, I like Godric, _he's_ all right -- and Rowena's... a person who..."  He tried to think of something nice to say about her.  "She's _almost_ a good duelist," he finally managed.  "But _Helga_, you can't just --"

"Look, it doesn't matter now," said Helga, quickly.  "Right now what we need to do is get them back to the castle --"

"Back to the castle?" demanded Basil.  "But that's the first place the Aurae will look for you!"

"Basil, look, I'm just telling you what needs to be done," she said, growing tired of their argument.  "I'm not stupid; I know the consequences.  I've accepted them.  And I need your help."

He sighed.  "Fine, fine, I'll help you get them back to the castle, but then we've got to run to I don't even _know_ where, Helga, this is going to be a _mess, _how are we going to live?"

Helga took a deep breath, and lied to him, as she'd been lying to Godric and Rowena.  The lives of the people she loved were worth lying for.  "We'll work it out.  Don't worry."  She smiled up at Basil and craned her neck to kiss him.

She had missed him so badly, and she was going to miss him even more.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I'm posting this chapter early because tomorrow through Saturday I'll be internetless for a while visiting family for Thanksgiving. To all my readers in the US, happy Thanksgiving! To all my readers elsewhere, have an excellent week.

Whatever muscles Clio had pulled in her fall from Barbara's saddle were healed now, and though she was left with some rather nasty-looking scars from where the reins had dug into her arm and hand, Healer Kewesh's treatment had mended the flesh quickly.

She was currently drowsing, listening to Leander read her some old poem about some long-dead Roman.  He'd suggested poems, and she'd said "Not unless they're about hot men," and frankly, Clio was feeling a little cheated on the hot men count, only what was she complaining about, really?  Leander's hair was artfully messy, and he was wandering around half-naked again, as well he should be, and really, what more could a girl ask for?  And he had a nice voice.

Besides which, Clio didn't have the attention span or energy for anything more active.  Her mind kept returning to what the Council was thinking and what Alfhild and Jan Perkinson were doing now to catch poor Godric and the irresponsible idiots he'd fallen in with.  _What if this?_ she wondered, then _But oh, what if that?_ and she couldn't see a solution that she wanted to bring about.  When she failed, Lady Aeaeae always had her doing political murders as punishment -- framing troublesome noblewomen for their children's deaths, that sort of thing.

But if her Aurae managed to capture Godric... she recoiled at the thought.  Either she'd have to kill him or they'd have someone else do it and they'd bugger it up, and--

The mental image that produced -- of some arsehole trying to saw through Godric's neck with a sword -- made her twitch, and Leander faltered in his reading.  "Something wrong?" he asked.  "My tutors always did say my pronunciation was awful."

Clio shook her head.  "I'm fine.  ..._It's_ fine.  I don't know a bloody thing about poetry, you know that," she said.

He must've caught the bitterness in her voice, because he put the book down and sat on the bed next to her.  "Catullus isn't bothering you_ that_ much.  Something's wrong."

"Well, maybe you can ask _Catullus,_" snapped Clio.  She was ready to have an argument whether he liked it or not.

"Clio.  I know you want to be out catching terrible people," said Leander, "but I'm afraid I can't help with that, so there's no use taking it out on _me._"

"I _wasn't_ taking it out on --"  Clio stopped.  "All right, so I was.  _Damn_ it!  I need a change of scenery, that's all.  Argh!"  Losing her temper at someone who couldn't defend himself.  She was just the _exemplar_ of an Aura Aurelia, wasn't she?  "Look, the thing is --"  She hesitated, then decided, to _hell_ with it, she would just spit it out and it would be out and then she could pretend she'd never said it.  "The thing is I hate my job and I can't just -- leave it, I'm not _allowed_, my job's my _life_ and when it's not dull it's awful, and I don't even remember _how_ it ended up like this because I used to live for it, I used to _want_ this!  But now she's got me hunting Godric because it's _funny,_ and someone's going to kill him and if it's not me he'll die _horribly_, but if it's me, I have to -- I have to --"  She blinked, and tears ran down her cheeks.  "_Fuck,_" she snarled, suddenly full of desperate boiling rage and despair together.

Usually when she got into this sort of mood, she went out and found somebody who needed killing or had Goronwy whip up a batch of Inferi, but she was stuck here with Leander, who was looking at her as though she might grow claws.  He hesitated before speaking again.  "...I admit, I'm a little out of my depth."

"It's fine, I'm just being stupid about some bloke," she said, digging the tears out of her eyes with the heels of her hands.  That hurt to admit, actually.  She wished very much that she could throw herself at something in a blind rage, but Leander certainly didn't deserve that.  "I spent a summer with him, years ago.  He was so kind, and he went out of his way to help... well, more than a few people.  And now he's important and Lady Aeaeae wants him out of the way and her _stupid fucking daughter_ keeps throwing him in the path of danger because she's spoilt.  And I know that I don't know him, not really, but he's..."  She swallowed.  "He's a good man," she said, her voice shaking a little.  "I know that much.  I don't want to have to kill him but if I don't --"

There was a knock at the door.

"_Fuck_," Clio muttered.  She had enough time to wipe her eyes with her sleeve before the door opened and Goronwy rushed in.

"Clio!  How's your arm?"  He shoved Leander off the bed to sit in his place and lean much too close.  "Oh my god you almost _died_, you should have seen what you looked like when --"

"Would you get out of my face?" she snapped, pushing him back.  "I'm _fine._  I did what I had to, and suddenly everyone's all _concerned_."

"You could have _died!_  Are you _mad?_  You sent Maelys away!" he said.

"I don't like Maelys.  She was loud, and she was provoking me," said Clio.

"Like certain people I could name," said Leander, loudly, looking pointedly at Goronwy.

"Oh, piss off, Squib," snapped Goronwy.  "Clio, we've got to get you out of here."  He put his arm around her shoulder.  "I know a nice inn where --"

"While your concern is touching," sighed Clio, "it is a little too much touching for me."  She peeled his arm off her shoulder with some difficulty.  "Would you like to make yourself actually useful for once?"

"You wound me!" said Goronwy.

Clio sighed.  "Often.  It never quite sinks in, does it?"

"Someday you'll wonder why you ever dumped me," he said, apparently completely serious.

"No," said Clio, sweetly.  "Your endless badgering reminders are enough to bolster my fading memories of those years, alas.  On to actual important things, though -- has anybody been captured?"

"No," said Goronwy, unhappily.  "And moreover, Jan's been having problems with the Wyke coppers.  They lost Basil Hufflepuff and they haven't found him again.  We've sent our own men in, and we're having trouble too."

"Leave it to the locals," she said, rolling her eyes.  "Where'd they lose him?"

"A whorehouse."  Goronwy examined his surroundings.  "Maybe he's there still!  Are they all this comfortable?"

Leander was glaring at Goronwy as though he would've liked to slug him.  Clio could sympathize.  "This isn't a whorehouse, Goronwy, it's where Leander lives," she said.  "We do know that Hufflepuff got there, though?"

"Yes," said Goronwy, "although he left Hogsmeade before the incident got out to the public.  Obviously by now he knows something's up if he noticed and evaded his followers, but I don't think he came prepared.  Presumably Slytherin knows something of what happened by now, but all the owls we've intercepted from his castle -- and there've been plenty -- have been addressed to allies in the Council."

Clio sat up.  "What do the letters say?"

At this question, Goronwy's fists clenched and his face screwed up into a snarl.  "They're _completely_ bland!  They must say something we can't _read_, something in code or maybe in the paper, but by God I _can't_ find the messages.  I took one for a whole day and did everything I could to work out how the message was hidden, and I couldn't find anything!  So I just gave it back to the owl and sent it on its way.  If he's planning something like this against Lady Aeaeae, we want him to _act_ so she has the evidence to send him to Drear, so I'd rather he didn't realize we're on to ...whatever it is."

Goronwy was foolish about plenty, but it was his job to know everything for the Aurae -- if it was written down somewhere, he knew what it said, whether it was a banned necromancy text, a theorist's notes on the life cycle of the phoenix, or letters from treasonous nobles to their childhood friends.  He knew all the ways to hide a message.  If Slytherin had bested him, there was no telling what could happen.

Clio tried to put aside her worries that Slytherin was going to make a military move on Lady Aeaeae.  He had enslaved several tribes of goblins in the last rebellion, she knew, and these might have been a fearsome fighting force in their prime, but that had been over a decade ago.   Besides which, in all the monitoring the Aurae had done of Lord Slytherin's activities, he seemed to use the goblins as servants and spies, and had apparently never trained or drilled them for war, as any sensible commander would have done.

She was forgetting something, but she couldn't work out _what._  She didn't think Slytherin was stupid enough to lead an open revolt against Lady Aeaeae, though, so that was something, but if she couldn't even work out her opponent's _intentions_, she was going to lose this fight badly.

She sighed and shook her head.  "You're going to have to look harder in his notes.  See if there's _anything_ you're missing.  Freeze them, burn them, eat them and see if you piss in code, _find the message._ Is there any unusual activity in Hogsmeade?  At Etxazarra?  And you'd better find Hufflepuff, or the rest of them -- find _somebody_, for fuck's sake, and keep the idiot locals from interfering.  You can't find _any_ of them?"

Goronwy glared at her.  "I didn't say we _couldn't_, I said we _hadn't_.  We're still looking.  We think Sindri the Maker and his horrible daughter are with them."

Clio rolled her eyes.  "You shouldn't have proposed to her.  You scared her off and turned her treasonous.  I'm blaming you personally.  So basically you're looking for four blonds, Lady Rowena -- who's easy to pick out of a crowd on account of being tall, foreign-looking, and bitchy -- and ..._Godric_.  And you can't find them."

She had watched Goronwy 's face get more and more indignant, until finally he exploded.  "They're probably glamouring their hair!"

She burst out laughing, despite the situation.  "I don't think Godric would look good blond," she said.  "He doesn't have the complexion for it."

"What do you even _see_ in that..."  Goronwy trailed off, apparently lost for words in attempting to describe Godric and everything that was wrong with him.  "I don't believe he's even human."

"That's not any of your business," said Clio.  "Nor, really, is it mine at the moment.  We have to find him; that's our job."

"Find him and kill him?" Goronwy asked.

"I serve the Chief, and the Council, and the people it governs.  In that order, unfortunately," said Clio.  "If she wants him dead, I'll kill him myself.  It's faster that way."

"I'm sure he's very grateful," said Goronwy, rolling his eyes.  "You know, you wouldn't have these problems if you only went for law-abiding citizens," he said, as though he was the perfect specimen of that category.

"What can I say, I go for the bad boys," she said drily.  This had never actually been true; bad boys often went for her, and she found them conveniently fuckable, but ultimately very dull.  "At any rate, my romantic life is not really the point of this meeting, though I know you wish things were otherwise.  Keep an eye on Hogsmeade, especially that forest -- Hufflepuff probably knows it well, as he goes there every full moon, and his wife may be able to make use of the vegetation.  Also keep someone watching the roads.  I think an aerial patrol would make the most sense, considering our limited numbers.  Hogsmeade has a small Aurae Cuprorum; they'll be loyal to Slytherin, but they're amateurs and we can use that against them.  See _how_ loyal; if he's too cooperative in lending you their aid, reject it and bring in... somebody else."

"Hunters' Guild?" Goronwy asked.

Clio grimaced.  "God, I wouldn't trust those bastards further than I could throw them, and I haven't even picked up a _sword_ for days.  But if you must, I suppose -- just don't go hiring them from London, London's Guild is the worst.  Go to Edinburgh."

"What, because London's Guild is full of Muggleborns?" he asked pointedly.

She glared at him.  "You know that's not the only reason I dislike them."

He rolled his eyes.  "Just because they didn't let you into their --"

"They sent men to_ kill me_," said Clio.  "Once a week!  Do you know how distracting it is to have to hunt down and kill somebody for personal reasons when you've already got a day job hunting down and killing somebody else?  I had no time to myself!  It was all kill, kill, kill.  And I was _meant_ to be learning to read and write in my copious spare time."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so _acerbic_ all of the time --"

"Goronwy, shut the fuck up and get out of my room," snapped Clio.

"Technically it's my room," said Leander.

Clio beamed at him.  "Thank you!  Goronwy, shut the fuck up and get out of _Leander's_ room," she said sweetly.

"Go on," said Leander.  "You've got your orders."

Goronwy drew himself up to his full, not terribly impressive height, and looked up at Leander.  "I don't take orders from you, Squib."  Then he turned to Clio.  "And there you go, being acerbic again."  He turned and sauntered out, nose in the air.

"Tell me again why you two broke up?" Leander said, his nose wrinkled as though he was trying to ignore a very nasty smell in the air.  "He's just so charming!"

"Well, this one time we were having a perfectly good argument about how he couldn't expect special treatment at work just because he was sleeping with me, and then he threw a _punch_ at me," said Clio, insulted.  "I mean, did he really expect it to _connect?_  Anyway, it took him six weeks to recover fully and I decided it was a bad idea to go through all that again, although I was terribly weepy and apologetic about it at the time."  She frowned down at the blankets, feeling silly for admitting this.  "Young and stupid, I suppose.  Some people have no business being leaders."

She felt Leander sit next to her -- a comforting warmth.  "And some people learn on the job, right?"

She looked at him, and blushed, because _fuck, _he was handsome, and it was always a little startling to her when she noticed that sort of thing, even though it was part of his job.  And so was sounding sincere.  And he smelled nice.  Still, however much he really meant it, it felt nice, and that was really what she paid him for, wasn't it?  "I suppose so, yes," she said, still not really happy.  She thought of Godric, who had been flattering even under Veritaserum.  But he hardly knew her.  Maybe he was just swept up in the romance of impossible love.

"I know that look," Leander said.  He put one arm around her, resting his hand on her shoulder casually, as if he comforted her about this sort of thing every day.  "Are you going to keep worrying about what's bothering you even though you know you can't do anything about it?"

"...Probably," said Clio, giving him a wary look.  She didn't like being talked out of things, but... well, maybe Godric would get out of this somehow.  He was a genius, so she supposed he might be clever enough, if not necessarily very sensible.  She _really_ wished she could stop thinking about Godric when she was with Leander.  Though neither had made any demands upon her loyalty, it did make her feel like she was being disloyal to both of them.  It had been _far_ too long since she'd had a real romantic relationship, she decided.  Maybe she should try flirting with men who _weren't_ just looking for a one-night stand, but most of them found her intimidating, and given that she wasn't a virgin, the ones who weren't intimidated were usually disgusted.  Besides, she liked sex.  "You could distract me, though," she told Leander.  "If you like."

"I'd be up for that," he said.  He slid his hand down the neck of her tunic, and when he kissed her neck, she leaned into him, grateful for the solid realness of his touch.  There was, she had to admit, something to be said for the simpler pleasures in life.

* * *

That evening, they stayed in the boat, although it was already starting to fall apart.  Godric wished he'd been able to do something more, but everyone else insisted that he rest and not worry about it, because they'd be off the boat by tomorrow.  They would disguise him as a statue of somebody important with Petrificus Totalus and some grey goop Helga had picked up in the market that afternoon to make him look like stone.  "You'll be ugly, but that's just proper civic art," Rowena reassured him.  He was not especially convinced.

They'd agreed that the Aurae would probably be watching Hogsmeade and the castle very carefully, so Rowena, inspired by Lord de Malfoie's army, had suggested bypassing the usual roads and getting to the castle via the lake.  She had had a worrying glimmer in her eye as she suggested this, but nobody seemed to notice it but Godric, who had decided Rowena deserved to get herself into more trouble after that civic art remark.  Besides, Basil would stop her if she did anything stupid.  Basil was sane, which Rowena had always seemed to resent him for.

At any rate, after the planning was done, Basil and Helga had made some very hurried excuses about being exhausted and gone off in a giggly, very energetic way to the guest bedroom which adjoined the Council Chief's.  Godric really hoped they remembered the Soundproofing Charms.

Sindri frowned after them.  "That boy -- her husband -- what is he like?"

"He's very nice," said Rowena, which surprised Godric slightly.

"Er, yeah, Basil's great," said Godric.

Ari rolled his eyes.  "Hufflepuff is a passable duelist."

"And his family?" Sindri asked.  "What sort of a name is 'Hufflepuff,' anyway?"

"I did always wonder," Ari said, frowning.  "Did he really make it up himself?"

"Ari," said Rowena, warningly.  "I don't really think that's any of your business," she told Sindri.

"She is my daughter.  I should know these things."

"He seems all right to me," said Grimhildr.

"Quiet, Grimhildr," he told her.

"Well, er, he's from London," said Godric.  "And he used to be a hunter."

"Why is he not a hunter any longer?" Sindri asked pointedly.

Rowena and Godric exchanged a look over his head.  "Helga thought it was too dangerous," said Rowena.  This was the story they tended to tell concerned parents who'd heard that Basil was a werewolf.  Actually, he and Rowena had developed a pretty good routine for this situation, which Godric launched into now.

"It _is_ rather dangerous," he said.  "Also, didn't something happen with the London Hunters' Guild?  Those people are awful," said Godric.

"They _are,_" said Rowena.  "It's sort of an open secret that they're a bunch of corrupt old blowhards, but, well, they spread this _awful rumor_ about Basil," she said, "and of course nobody would hire him after that."

"What did they say about him?" Grimhildr asked, wide-eyed.

"I think they said he was a werewolf," said Godric, in a practiced tone of disbelief.  Ari raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh!  But he seems _nice!_" Grimhildr said.  "And he is a good duelist?"

"He's not _that_ nice," muttered Rowena.  Ari snorted.  "But he is a good duelist," she said grudgingly.

"I had heard those rumors, yes," said Sindri.  "You understand my concern."

"Certainly," said Godric, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  Parents of children he could understand, and he felt bad implicitly lying to them, but Sindri -- well, his daughter was a grown woman, and he was hardly a _parent.  _Still, best to keep the peace.

Rowena apparently couldn't resist speaking up, though.  "You know, even if the rumors were true," she said, "I really don't see how it's any of your business."

"I'm her father," said Sindri insistently, as if this meant anything.

"And I'm her best friend," said Rowena.  "I grew up with her, I lived with her off and on since we were kids, and you know what, I don't remember meeting you until now, so your concern is a little bit unexpected and, I suspect, completely unwelcome."

Sindri glared at her.  "Well, you are very rude."

"You know, people keep telling me that," said Rowena, sitting back in her chair.  "Maybe someday I'll give a fuck."

"I think what Rowena and I are trying to say is... go away," said Godric.

"See?" said Rowena, gesturing up at him.  "And Godric's _so_ polite I have to make up for him."

"Well, in that case," said Sindri, coldly.  He stood to leave.  "Come along, Grimhildr."

"I want to stay and talk," said Grimhildr, quite cheerfully.  Sindri glared at Godric and Rowena, and left.  She leaned forward.  "So where is the best place for us to go?" she asked them.  "After we get out of here, I mean."

"Well, that depends on what you want to do," said Rowena.

"I want to see the world," said Grimhildr.

Ari looked at her.  "Really?  You?"

"I've never _been,_" she said.

"It just seems so impractical coming from you," said Ari.  "But I can see the appeal."

Grimhildr and Ari proceeded to pump Godric and Rowena for information about the world south of the North Sea for an hour or so, making plans and getting on despite themselves.  Ari seemed most excited about going to Rome, which he apparently considered the center of the world.  "It's a Christian city," Rowena had warned him.

"It is also a pagan one," he'd pointed out.  "The Roman pagans are infamous god-stealers, are they not?"

Rowena wrinkled her nose.  "Gods, sometimes I run into those people and want to tell them the _real_ names of their gods.  Also, Ares or _Mars_ or whatever you want to call him _is not deserving of such widespread adoration._  I mean, he's only a god."

"You know, for all that you find Christian theology weird and narrow-minded, you lot don't really practice what you preach," said Godric.

"Well, you only have _one_ god," said Rowena, "it's different, you should all be able to agree."

"Oh, you're one of _those?_" Grimhildr asked, staring at Godric, as though she'd only just realized how monstrous he truly was.

He laughed.  "Sort of.  Haven't been to church in _years_, I sort of -- got told off last time.  Helga's much more religious than me, though," he pointed out.

"_You?_  What did you get told off for?" Rowena asked.  "You're completely harmless."

"I, er."  He went slightly pink.  "Well, I had sort of a disagreement about Latin pronunciation with the priest, who, as it turned out didn't actually know Latin and had just memorized it, and also, this was a Muggle church, and on top of being a known wizard, I had already outgrown normal doorways, so one thing sort of led to another.  I really should learn when to shut up," said Godric.

"Well, you could go to church with Helga and Basil, apparently their church is all right with being a known wizard," Rowena pointed out.

"But it's a _heretical cult,_" said Godric.  "I don't want to be part of some weird fringe group.  I mean, you join one of those and five years later you find yourself giving up all your possessions and having lots of... lots of... _immoral relations_."  He blushed.

Rowena and Ari exchanged a long, disbelieving look before collapsing in laughter.  Grimhildr looked at them, rolled her eyes, then asked Godric, "Do you really think Helga is in such danger?"  Her eyes were wide and horrified.

"No, I suppose not," said Godric, ignoring the other two idiots.  "She's pretty sensible, Helga.  Well, unless you get her worked up."

"_Immoral relations!_" exclaimed Rowena, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Are they accepting new members?" Ari asked.

At this, Rowena burst into a fresh bout of giggling.  "_New members!_"

"You two are completely filthy-minded," said Godric, annoyed that they had taken what he thought was a legitimate point and made it into a Godric is an Idiot moment.  He was also blushing much worse now.  He put his face in his hands.

"Well, it would be _nice_ to have a chance at some immoral relations, having inadvertently given up all my possessions in advance," said Ari, sighing.  "Aside from that, this heretical cult sounds terribly tame."

"Clearly you need to join up," said Rowena.  "And Godric, this could be your one chance!  I mean, you could do so much better than that Sheffield woman.  All you have to do is go to church!"

"Rowena, really, would you stop it?" Godric snapped.  He was not going to go to church just because he wanted sex.  It seemed counterproductive.

"Or you could just get together with Ari," she suggested.

Godric blinked.  "Well, no, because he doesn't fancy me, and I prefer women," he said.  He wondered why Ari wasn't also strenuously objecting, and then he saw that Ari had gone a very vivid shade of red and was staring at the stains in the wood of the table they were sitting around.  "...Rowena," he said, realizing what was going on, "have you been making ...strange assumptions about me because of your ridiculous grudge against Clio?"

Rowena glared.  "Well she _does_ dress like a man.  And she's all _aggressive!_" she said, making a sort of punching gesture.  Godric did not know how this had anything to do with_ anything_, especially since Rowena picked more fights than anyone else he had ever met.  "I couldn't help but wonder.  And _you_," she said, turning to Ari and frowning.  "_You_ told _me_ you thought Godric had amazing--"

"I, um, I think I should go now," said Ari, not even bothering to make up an excuse.  He got up from the table and left rather quickly.

"I think I missed something fairly major in that talk we had about arranged marriages and responsibility," said Godric, frowning.  Now he just felt _bad._

"You had _better not_ be upset with Ari," snapped Rowena.  "_Just because _he fancies you --"

"I'm not upset with him," said Godric.  "I just feel stupid, is all.  I hope he meets somebody nice in Rome with amazing whatever, and I hope the rest of his friends aren't as horribly embarrassing as you or as completely dense as me."

Rowena looked uneasy, as though she was considering admitting that she had been wrong.  "Well, Grimhildr's not embarrassing or dense?" she said hopefully.

"Nor am I his friend," said Grimhildr, apparently amused by this entire conversation.

Godric didn't think that was a very nice thing to say, and from the expression on Rowena's face, she agreed.  Grimhildr shrank in her seat a little bit, then said, "But I should be certain that he's all right," and, presumably, went off to find him.

When she was gone, Rowena turned on Godric.  "I can't believe you just _told him you weren't interested,_" she said.

"Well, I wasn't," he said.  "What, was I supposed to _lie?_  It's not as though I find him personally repulsive, he's just, you know... not the sort of person I go for," said Godric.  Sadly, the sort of person he seemed to go for was, broadly, in the category of Bellicose and Unavailable Women, but that was his problem.

"Hmph," said Rowena.  She seemed to be taking this all very personally, as though he was rejecting _her._  "Well, I talked to Helga about your wild accusations," she said, grumpily.

"And?" he asked.

"They were wild accusations, and totally unfounded," she said.  "So, you know, you're wrong."

"Helga said I was lying?" Godric asked.  That seemed unlikely.  He couldn't imagine Helga committing such blatant untruths to Rowena's face.  He could see her leaving things out of her explanation, though.

"Well, she said you'd remembered it wrong, and... and you... well."  Rowena frowned.  "She said my mum tried to bargain with her, and..."  Rowena hesitated.

"Yes?" Godric asked.

"Well, I think she might've been sort of fudging it," said Rowena.  She sighed.  Then she took a breath and said "Godric, I have to tell you something, but _don't_ be angry, all right, because it wasn't my idea and I think Helga didn't _mean_ it, not_ really_, and she was only thinking of getting home safely and --"

"Rowena, this sounds like an elaborate homework excuse from a particularly unpromising first-year," said Godric.  "Get on with it."

"That night when you wandered out and I said I was sleepwalking and Helga saved me?  Well, I wasn't, it was Sheffield, she snuck back here and tried to kill us, only Helga killed her first," blurted Rowena.

"...What?" Godric asked.

Rowena cringed.  "I mean, but she's not _like that_, Godric, she's the best person I know, she doesn't go around killing people, she's my _best friend_, I just, I, it was a one-time thing, you know?"

"What do you mean, a one-time thing?" demanded Godric.  "It's not like Clio's dead _once_, she stays dead _forever._  It's a _forever_ thing."  He could feel a horrible deep dark hole opening up in himself somewhere.  Clio couldn't be _dead_.  Clio survived _everything._  Clio was a point of light in an otherwise hostile world; she was simply not allowed to die.

"Well, I mean, you can kill somebody once and not be a horrible person," said Rowena, still speaking at breakneck speed.  "I mean, I mean, like, this time, she had a _reason_, you know?  Sheffield was going to kill us, and so....  I -- I mean, I know they stay dead forever, but --"  She took a shaky breath.  "It was just a mistake, people make mistakes, and, you know, she probably won't --"

 "The two of you killed Clio," said Godric, trying to breathe evenly.

"_It just happened!_  _I didn't mean to!_" said Rowena desperately.  She stopped her endless chattering and put a hand over her mouth.

"See, this is just -- I can't -- you -- I can't even _think_ properly," Godric snapped.  "You know _full well_ she killed Clio, you _helped _her, you didn't even _tell _me, you bloody well knew she was lying about _betraying you_, and _now_ you're telling me she's the most brilliant wonderful person on the face of the Earth, because apparently killing people in cold blood is all right if you only do it _once_ and your name happens to be _Helga._  Rowena, do you even _think_ about the things you believe, or do you just _act_, and assume everything will resolve itself in your favor eventually?"

"You're not upset that it's murder.  You're only upset because the person Helga killed is the woman you want to fuck," snapped Rowena.

At this point, something inside Godric snapped, and he remembered what the selkie barmaid had told him, about how Rowena couldn't stop asking about Helga.  "And _you're_ only defending Clio's murderer because she's the woman _you_ want to fuck," he said.

Rowena stared at him in shock, then opened her mouth.  "...I ...I ..._what?  _Don't be _ridiculous!_  I mean, that isn't even --"

"Oh _come on,_ how stupid do you think I am?" Godric said.  "You dislike Basil for _no reason_, you _obsess_ over Helga, which, well, I don't know why she puts up with it, but you don't see anybody but her sometimes, you know?  And you won't hear a word against her _even when she was working for your mother._"

"She _never would!_" Rowena insisted.  "You don't even know what you're talking about.  I thought you were better than this, Godric.  You don't know anything about _friends._  I was just trying to spare you a nasty shock tomorrow when you find out --"

"I heard what I heard," said Godric, "and if Helga's calling me a liar --"

"She just said you _misremembered!_" Rowena insisted.

"Oh, right, because I'm a big stupid lout who can't remember his own name unless it's written on his clothes or whatever you said about me, is that right?" he demanded.  "You just think I'm a useful idiot with no bloody clue, don't you?  You can just tell me whatever you like and I'll go along with it because I'm just _props_ to you, I'm just _scenery_, and you can make all kinds of jokes at my expense because I'm so_ nice_ and so _stupid _I won't even notice!" Godric shouted.  "Well _fine._  Fuck you.  Have a good night."

He stomped out, the powerful feeling of righteous anger soothing his misgivings about the truly nasty tirade he'd just gone on.  It had all been deserved and everybody else could just go die horribly, because poor Clio already had.

* * *

The next morning, Helga dressed quietly, being careful not to wake Basil.  He looked so comfortable that she thought it'd be a pity to disturb him.  Besides, she had a lot to do and Basil could be terribly distracting.  Anyway, she shouldn't need him for moral support, now that Godric and Rowena seemed to be getting on.

She yawned, rubbed her eyes, and opened the door of the bedroom.  "Morning!" she said cheerfully to Godric, who appeared to be walking past, carrying several large wooden planks over his shoulder.

He glared at her.  "What do you want _now?_" he demanded.

Helga was so surprised at this treatment that she closed the door.  Then, realizing how it might look to Godric, she opened the door.  "A good morning?" she hazarded.

"Well, you can forget about that," said Godric.  "Look, you," he said, bending his face down to her level, "I _know_ what I heard, and _Rowena_ might believe whatever you say, but _I'm_ actually capable of living without you, and, you know, I'm certain there's a perfectly good explanation for all of this, but accusing me of lying or just being stupid is not a substitute, and if you _are_ spying for Lady Aeaeae we'll see what Lord Slytherin does with you.  Whatever he does, you deserve it for _murdering Clio._"

"...But," Helga managed, before Godric shut the door in her face.

She opened it again.  "She survived!" she insisted.

Godric glared at her.  "I don't believe you."  He slammed the door again.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the grain of the wood in the door.

"Wossat?" Basil mumbled.

"Nothing, Basil.  Go back to sleep," she said.

He turned over.  "Y'shd come back here," he said.  "Nice an' warm.  You're so pretty."

She grinned to herself.  "You too, dear."  Then she shook her head, and opened the door again.  Everyone seemed to be working on some sort of large cart cannibalized from bits of the boat, which was low in the water and would probably not hold up for another night.  She spotted Rowena charming wood into wheels.  "Good morning," she said.  "Anything I can do to help?"

"_No_," snapped Rowena, turning away from her.  "Leave me _alone._"

"...er."  Helga was taken aback.  "Look, this morning Godric said --"

"Whatever he said was _wrong!_" snapped Rowena.  "I told you to leave me alone."

"...all right," said Helga.  She sighed.  What on earth had happened to make everyone so unreasonable?  "Look, I don't know what --"

"Good morning, all," said Basil from behind her.  She smiled over her shoulder at him, not wanting to just walk away from Rowena.  He was dressed but clearly still half-asleep, his hair a mess.

Nobody answered him, because Rowena had just done something to make Godric snap at her, or vice versa, and now they were in a full-blown vicious argument.  Rowena had her wand out already, of course, and Godric, threatening to turn her into a lizard, drew his own wand.  Helga took a few steps back.

Basil put his arms on Helga's shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.  "Apparently I'm invisible," he whispered into her ear.  "And I thought you said those two were getting along."

"They _were,_" said Helga.   She looked up at him.  "I'd say it was business as usual, but Godric's upset with me and _so is Rowena._"

"Hm," said Basil.  "Did you forget to pay tribute?  I hear she takes modest sacrifices.  Cats, small dogs, ugly children."

"Basil, that's not nice," said Helga.  She leaned into him, trying to work out what she'd done that Rowena would hold it against her.  Rowena held everything against other people, even if it was her fault.  Now, Godric, she could see, but Rowena?  It wasn't right.

"We could go back to bed," he said optimistically.  "See if things improve."

She giggled.  "Seems a little irresponsible.  ...Basil, I'm so _tired_ of being responsible right now."

"Shouldn't have become a teacher, then, hm?" he asked.

Sindri, of all people, inserted himself between Godric and Rowena, seeming to cow both of them into resuming their work, although when Rowena finished making the last of her wheels, she threw it at the back of Godric's head and stomped away.  "Well?" she demanded, glaring at Helga and Basil.  "Are you two just going to stand around being _coupley_ or are you going to actually _do _something?" she demanded.

"Of course," said Helga, uncertain as to how to react.  "What can we do?"

"Help Godric put wheels on the cart," said Rowena coldly.  Then she hurried off, not even offering commentary on what a dreadful job Godric was doing.

"Well, she certainly told us," said Basil, rolling his eyes.

"Everything was going so well," said Helga, frowning.

Nobody was getting on, it seemed, but eventually they did manage to get everything set up and get ashore.  Rowena used cosmetic glamours on everyone else, sullenly, Godric submitted to being made to look like a statue and Petrified with minimal whining, Ari avoided everyone's eye as he asked if there was anything more he could do, and Sindri snapped at everyone for being incompetent while Grimhildr tried to shirk as much work as possible.  Helga was glad to have Basil around while he was there, but he decided it would be best if he had a head start so he could distract and then ditch anyone that started following him again.

* * *

When the tarp was removed from Godric, and he was un-Petrified, he was in a terrible mood.  Rowena had spent the day going out of her way to talk to passers-by about how unrealistically ugly the "statue" she was transporting was; how ugly its nose was, and how wretchedly its hair had come out, the blank expression of stupidity on its face, and why did it have to be so big and heavy?  He hadn't been able to blink or put his arm down for the entire time, and so his eyes stung when he finally got to close them again.

He sat up and looked up at the too-familiar building.  "Rowena," he said, "this is where we stayed before."

"...So?" Rowena asked, noncommittally.

"So they're going to recognize us," he snapped, rubbing his eyes.  "And it'll probably be the first place the Aurae look for us."

"That's why I had Sindri and Grimhildr get the rooms," said Rowena, rolling her eyes.  "Ari and Helga are taking the horses back."

"Is there a reason you're going to give them as to why you're lugging a statue up to the rooms?" Godric asked, raising an eyebrow.  "Or were you just going to _glamour_ me?"

"Well, your stupid selkie will be --"

"Oh, it's you!" said Adela, the stupid selkie in question.  Godric winced.  "The local coppers are looking for you, you know," she said.  "Still, I thought I recognized that statue.  Where's your herbologist?" she asked Rowena.

"She is _not MY herbologist_," snapped Rowena, in the most offended of tones.

"Helga will be back later," said Godric, to both of them.  "Look on the bright side, though," he said, lowering his voice.  "She's lying to everybody so she's probably lying to Basil too," he said.

Rowena glared.  "Would you _stop_, I am _not _\-- I'm --"  She burst into tears.

"Uh-oh," said Adela.

 Godric realized he was an idiot.  He put one hand out to pat Rowena on the back, but instead she grabbed his sleeve and used it to dab at her tears.  "Er, Rowena."

"-- can't _believe_ it, why was I so _stupid_ \--"

"Rowena?" Godric asked again.

"-- lying _all this time_ and she doesn't even _like_ my --"

"_Rowena,_" said Godric.

"What do you want?" she said through a face full of snot and tears and fake statue gunk.

"It's just, you're getting my statue stuff all over your face and everything and it looks very silly --"

Rowena started crying harder.

"I'll go get a hot bath started for her, shall I?" said the barmaid.  "Nothing like a hot bath in times of crisis.  And gunk."  She fled.

"What if she hates me?" wailed Rowena.

Godric sighed.  "Rowena, if Helga hated you she wouldn't bother lying to you, now, would she?"

"But she --"

"Because if she's lying to you, that means she cares what you think of her," said Godric.  "...Or possibly that she's some sort of axe murderer and she doesn't want you to turn her in.  But probably not!" he said.  He was trying to be an optimist.  It wasn't his strong suit.

"Oh gods, she thinks I would turn her in!" said Rowena, still sniffling.

Godric sighed.  Rowena was _so completely mad_ he was hardly even surprised anymore.

"But I wouldn't," said Rowena.  "Oh no.  No no no no no.  I bet she and Ari are going to talk about how awful I am," she said.  "I mean, I'm awful and everybody knows it.  Oh gods.  Do you think she knows?  I bet she knows."

"...Knows what?" Godric asked, blankly.  "That you're awful?"  He felt a bit bad not reassuring her that she wasn't awful, but he couldn't quite bring himself to lie.

Rowena went red.  "The, the.  The.  What you said last night," she said.  She was shaking visibly.

"Oh," said Godric.  To be honest he hadn't even really considered that it was likely.  True, it'd made a strange sort of sense, and it'd only really occurred to him because of the barmaid's confusion in Wyke, but really, it'd just been the most hurtful thing he could think of at the moment.  "...I -- well -- no," he told Rowena.

"Oh gods," whimpered Rowena.  "I have this aunt who -- but she's married -- but she and her husband's sister -- and everyone calls her -- because they haven't got tails, see -- it's _dreadful_, really -- and she -- but anyway I don't -- I mean, I -- augh."  She sat on the ground, looking an utter mess, and sniffled.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think what Helga's hiding is anything very bad," said Godric.

"Ngh," said Rowena.

"I mean, she's only Helga, right?" said Godric.  "There's a _reason_ you're ...friends with her."  So Rowena was madly in love with Helga.  It explained quite a lot, actually, but it was going to take some getting used to.  Although Rowena didn't seem especially used to it either.

"Yeah," said Rowena, quietly.  She sniffed.  "I should apologize to her.  She's probably not lying at all.  You're just paranoid."

About half of his sympathy for Rowena vanished -- although for some reason not all of it -- and he sighed.  "It's just all or nothing with you, isn't it, Rowena?"

"You've made me feel _so_ much better," she said, hugging him.  By now she was quite covered in white dust and goop.  "Thank you."

"Anytime," he sighed.

 


	29. Chapter 29

Once Basil arrived at the inn, he kept an eye on it to ensure that nobody followed the others in.  After what seemed like a very long time, Helga and Stigandrson returned from getting rid of the horses, and Basil was satisfied they hadn't been followed.  He went inside.

The trick now was to get one person back to the castle and keep everyone else more or less safe and together while they got there, so that the person who got back to the castle could summon a Transport Key and bring everybody else back safe and sound.  Normally, Basil would have found this plan worrisome, in that sticking together was a bad idea when they were being stalked by Aurae Aurelii.

But when he got into the inn, he found out something even more worrisome.

"Oh, there you are, _finally,_" said Rowena, as the innkeeper's selkie daughter showed him into the room their group had commandeered.  Godric and Helga were there, but the others were presumably making their own escape plans.  "I was just telling Godric and Helga about how I'm really, really sorry for this whole mess, and to apologize, I'd like to be the one to go out and get us all back to Lord Salazar's castle."  Basil must have made a face, because she glared.  "Well don't look at me like that!  I'm _really sorry._  Really!"

"We believe you," Helga said.  Basil did not, but because he loved his wife and didn't like sleeping on the floor, he didn't correct her on this matter.

Godric grimaced.  "So what's your plan?" he asked, sighing.  "You mentioned getting there by water."

"Well," said Rowena.  Then, apparently for dramatic effect, she paused.  "I am going to walk over the bottom of the loch right up to the castle."

"Sorry, sorry," said Basil.  "I thought you were Lady Rowena, but apparently you're actually _Moses!_  How are you going to accomplish this miracle?  Are there going to be plagues?"

Rowena frowned.  "Isn't Moses God's lawyer or something?  I am not God's lawyer."

"Basil!" snapped Helga.  She turned to Rowena.  "Moses was _not a lawyer.  _He was a lawgiver.  They're two _very_ different things."

"Well, then!  Now I know better than to take any of his legal advice," said Rowena brightly.  "That old fraud.  Now, what about my plan?"

"It's... interesting," said Helga, making her 'trying to humor a terrible idea' face.  Basil's plans had generated this expression enough times to know it well.  "But it does require... rather more magic than any one of us has to just make a path through the water like that.  And one does run into the problem of sustaining it.  And what if the Aurae should follow?"

"Oh!  No, no, no," said Rowena.  "There won't be a path.  I've made a sort of underwater bubble spell.  I can't float with it, but I can use it to roll along the bottom of the loch.  Also," she said, turning to Basil, "there will be no plagues.  Or lawyers from God.  It'll be very easy."

Basil folded his arms, and stared unblinking into the face of childish, spoiled Lady Rowena.  "I'm going with you.  In case you run into trouble along the way.  I trust you'll have no obje--"

"No!" said Rowena.  "It is a _one-person _spell.  There isn't room enough for two in it.  Anyway, if there was I wouldn't pick _you._"

"Rowena," said Helga.  "He's got a point.  You really can't just say you're going to run off and use some experimental spell that could get you drowned and expect us to not _worry_ about you."

"Look, it's the best way to get in," said Rowena.  "The Aurae will have aerial guards posted outside the school and on the ground in Hogsmeade and even in the forest, but remember how Lord de Malfoie came around the back way over water, _then_ got to the castle?  I'll do it like that."

"But underwater," said Godric, sounding skeptical.

"Actually," said Basil, "I suppose when you put it like that it's not _completely_ mad.  Congratulations.  I now trust you with my life, if not anyone else's.  I'm still going with you."

"Oh _come on_," said Rowena.  "I'm not incompetent!  It's just a bubble-y sort of type of charm I was working on before we left and there's not enough room for two people, and mice die in it if it's too small --"

"Then it's lucky we're not mice.  Don't make it too small," said Basil.  "I'm going with you."

"I don't want you to go with me!" snapped Rowena.

"That isn't really the point, is it?" said Basil.  "Or I suppose you could go with Helga, who you very rudely told off this morning, and why is that suddenly all right now?"

Rowena went very red.  "It, er, I --"

Godric cleared his throat.  "I don't think that's a very good idea," he said.

"It's fine, Basil, really," said Helga.  "Rowena, we should talk about --"

"I'll go with him," stammered Rowena, pointing at Basil as if she did not know his name.

"Yeah, all right," said Basil, confused.  Godric was rubbing his forehead as though he had a particularly bad headache.  Rowena seemed very upset, but she didn't seem to be looking for a scapegoat, which was actually quite odd.  He shrugged.  She was mad, and spoiled, and, for some reason, Helga's best friend.  There was no explaining her.  And now they were going boating together.  Wonderful.

* * *

Jasper hadn't actually been there when his mother had been captured by the goblins; it had been a few days after he'd left to learn Arithmancy in the East, and he hadn't heard about it for months later, as it took much longer for the letter to reach him than it took for him to settle in; to get accustomed to the flying carpets and the hot weather and to forget about his parents.  And when he'd got back, to his father, who had looked half-dead himself, Jasper had done what he could to make a castle strong enough and full of hidden traps and defenses so that even if another army attacked it, they would never make Jasper an orphan.

But he still had bad dreams about armies at the doorstep, so when he came downstairs one morning, on his way to the kitchens to get some toast and wine, and three Aurae were standing in the corridor in their blue and pink uniforms, talking with his father, Jasper blamed himself for not setting the aerial defenses he'd designed.  Then he reminded himself that to keep the Aurae out -- to resist them via spells and architecture -- would probably have been taken as proof that House Slytherin had done something worthy of being besieged.  For safety's sake, he had to leave the castle vulnerable.

He took a deep breath, and went to see what was going on _now._  His father had heard all sorts of rumors about what was going on with poor Lady Rowena, and Jasper had been quite worried about her, although by all accounts she was alive and quite as brilliant as ever.  For a while, he'd been able to fool himself into thinking it would all be all right.  But now he saw the Aurae at the table and he couldn't really believe that anymore.

"Aurelii," he said, nodding at them politely.  "Is there a problem, Father?" he asked.

"No problem at all," said his father cheerfully.  "The Aurae would like to take command of our own Aurae Cuprorum in Hogsmeade, in order to pursue some, well, some very _disappointing_ coworkers."

Jasper tried not to glare at the Aurae.  "I see," he said.  "Well, we haven't got thestrals.  Is that going to be a problem, Your Aureliificness?"

"No, no, not at all," said one of the Aurae, a short man with dark hair.  He looked like he was trying not to laugh in Jasper's face.  Jasper thought his name was Goronwy.  "I am quite interested, though, in the wards you have up around --"

"The wards have nothing to do with the outlaws you're chasing," said Jasper shortly.

"But they're so --"

"Grummond, is it?  You keep track of books for Lady Aeaeae.  You must know all the ones I read," said Jasper.  "Work it out yourself, unless you're too busy chasing Lady Rowena down."

"Lady Rowena.  Oh yes, lovely woman," said Grummond, grimacing.  Probably she had said something quite withering to him.  Jasper suspected he deserved it.

"Jasper," said his father, "I have to show Aurelia Bergfalk and Aurelius Perkinson the lay of the land.  Why don't you tell Aurelius Grummond about our wayward..."

"Accomplices?" Grummond asked.

"Former coworkers," said his father.  Jasper knew his father was putting on a show; they had discussed the possibility that Lady Rowena and the others might manage to elude the Aurae and how to be most helpful to them, but Father had been very clear that they would have to cooperate fully with the Aurae if they came asking for information.

Jasper didn't have to like it, though, and he wondered if maybe it was worth going behind his father's back to keep Lady Rowena safe within the secret tunnels and rooms he'd put within the castle's walls.  "Yes, I suppose I can tell him about them."

"Give him any assistance he needs," his father reminded him.

Jasper nodded.  "Yes, of course," he said sing-songily.  Father led the other two Aurae away, talking cheerfully of local geography and fortifications.

"Why don't we go to the library?" Grummond asked.  "I've heard such good things about it."

"It's likely to be a better library than _you've_ ever seen," said Jasper.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" Grummond asked.

"I said it's a better library than _you_ would have seen," said Jasper, loftily.  "Being a commoner and all.  Grummond?  That's not a noble name.  It's not even Welsh."

"_Excuse me?_" demanded Grummond.

"Then, you might be some sort of highborn mudblood," said Jasper cheerfully, though this was a bit of a contradiction in terms.  "Oh that's right, you _are!_  You're the one who was disowned!  You made up a new name like some idiot hunter, didn't you?" 

Grummond's shoulders tensed.  He said nothing.

"That's sort of hilariously clueless, actually," said Jasper.  "I mean, if you were _any_ sort of wizard --"

"I'd like to see the library, please," snapped Grummond.  "If you delay me I can only assume you're hiding books that are... not permitted, and that this entire school could very well be some sort of method of indoctrination--"

"Fine, fine," said Jasper, sighing.

"I will be _very thorough in my inspection_," he warned.

"I'm trembling," said Jasper, rolling his eyes.

"In the meantime, why don't you tell me what sort of illegal activity your compatriots have been up to?"

Jasper snorted.  "I don't know of any, except by ridiculous rumor.  Mind, that Basil Hufflepuff is awfully shifty, I think he --"

"What about Gryffindor?" Grummond asked.

"Harmless." Jasper said.  "Mind, he was very _rude_ to me once a few years ago, and I don't think he's terribly bright, but really not such a bad sort for a common --"

"Hufflepuff?"

"Like I said, he's --"

"_Helga_ Hufflepuff," Grummond said.  "Has she ever been involved in any sort of necromancy that you've --"

"How should I know?" asked Jasper.  "She's sort of patronizing sometimes, but I don't think that's illegal."

Grummond nodded to himself.  He made a dismissive sort of grunt.

"I suppose you're going to ask about Lady Rowena next," said Jasper.

"Since you failed to miss the clear and obvious signs of dabbling in treasonous and Dark magic that would have been present in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, I rather doubt you're observant enough to notice anything malevolent about such a subtle and cunning woman as Lady Ravenclaw.  You're clearly smitten with her."

"I am not!" said Jasper.  "She's just very, er."  He looked for a word that suggested less smittenness than the ones he automatically came up with.  "She's clever.  I'm fond of clever women.  Is that so wrong?  ...I don't really think she's very subtle, though," he said.  "She's actually sort of loud."

"Yes, right, well," said Grummond.  Apparently he was completely ignoring everything Jasper had said.  "This'll be the library, then?"

"Yes?" said Jasper, uncertainly.  He was starting to worry that perhaps showing an Aura with a grudge to see the school's library -- an Aura who also just happened to be in charge of the banned and restricted books lists for the whole of Council territory -- might be a bad idea.

"Wonderful," said Grummond, cracking his knuckles before pushing the doors open and wandering in.  Jasper followed uneasily.  He was pulling out books willy-nilly and skimming their contents.  "Do you know this book's got heretical philosophical leanings?" he asked, waving a leather-bound volume apparently at random.

"According to which religion, particularly?" Jasper asked, raising an eyebrow.

"One of the ones with political sway, apparently.  It's on the list somewhere," said Grummund, cheerfully.  "Honestly, I forget.  Not the _true_ Church, of course, but I don't make the laws, I just make the regulations."

Jasper had not been aware that there was a difference.  "Look, you can't just --"

"And I haven't _read_ this book," said Grummond, sounding as though he was a child who'd got the smallest biscuit in the batch.  "Books I haven't read are automatically restricted, until such time as I've --"

"Well, you don't have to -- hey! Put that back!" snapped Jasper, watching him trying to take a very large green book off the top shelf.  Grummond couldn't quite reach and it was bound to fall on his head and possibly be damaged.  Jasper hastily grabbed the book to rescue it from such a fate.

"What's this one, then?" demanded Grummond.  "What are you hiding from me?"  He grabbed it and opened it at random.  "AHA.  A bestiary."

"That's Lady Rowena's!" snapped Jasper.  "You can't have that one.  Not without her permission, and she's not likely to give it to the likes of _you._"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I forget which one of us was _the law_ and which one of us was a third-rate, unqualified, _unlettered_ magister of mathematics?  Those who can, do, isn't that right?  And those who can't, _teach._"

"And those who can't teach become censorious bullies," snapped Jasper.  "The only pretender to scholarship in this room is you."  He grabbed the book back from Grummond, or tried to, but alas, Grummond and Jasper were evenly matched in strength, and he fought dirty besides, meaning Jasper was of course honor-bound to fight just as dishonorably in order to protect Lady Rowena's precious book.  And so in the ensuing tug-of-war, several bookshelves were most regrettably knocked over, and numerous volumes of Herodotus and Merlin and Mercurius ter Maximus were strewn about in terrible disarray, rather like corpses on a battlefield, Jasper thought, not that he had ever been on a battlefield but probably neither had Aurelius Goronwy bloody Grummond.

Jasper had, through repeated application of his teeth, _almost_ escaped from the headlock Grummond had him in, when his father and Aurelia Bergfalk stormed into the room.  "What are you _doing?_" his father demanded.

"My lord, I do apologize.  This is very typical of him," sighed Aurelia Bergfalk.  "Gorowny, I'm writing that report to Clio, so you don't leave out the bit where you're an idiot."

Grummond was on his feet at once, clutching the offending bestiary.  "He attacked me!"

"You stole Lady Rowena's book!" Jasper shouted, pointing an accusing finger.  He stood, dusted himself off, and crossed his arms at Grummond.  "Explain yourself!"

"_Jasper_," said his father, now more disappointed than angry.

"This book is --" Grummond insisted.

"A _bestiary_, nothing more," said Jasper.  "And it belongs to _Lady Rowena._"

"Goronwy, give him back the book," said Aurelia Bergfalk, prying the book out of his hands.  "See?  Good as gently used," she said, handing it to Jasper.  When Grummond attempted to grab the book back, she cheerfully slammed his head against one of the remaining upright bookshelves.  "Now, really, stop that," she scolded.

"Ow," moaned Grummond.  "Stop it!  I'm in charge here!"

"Actually, Jan's in charge here," said Bergfalk.  She smiled at Jasper.  "So sorry about that," she said, with inhuman chipperness.  Then, she wasn't really human, so Jasper supposed that was normal.  He began to page through the bestiary, checking for damage.

"Well, I _ought_ to be in charge here," Grummond said haughtily.  "Ow."  He put one hand to his head where she'd hit it.

"You just keep on telling yourself that!" said Bergfalk, with a brittle smile.  "We should be leaving before you break anything else," she said.  "Thank you for all your cooperation, Lord Slytherin.  Once Jan is finished setting up the surveillance spells, we'll be out of your hair."

"Surveillance spells?" Jasper asked, looking up from the bestiary.  "What surveillance spells?"

"At all the entrances to the castle," said Bergfalk.  "For your own protection, of course."  She did not meet his eye when she spoke.  "So that Rowena and that lot don't... sneak in and... hold you hostage, I suppose."  She rolled her eyes.  "There's just no telling what they'll do next."

"Oh.  Of course," said Jasper.  He felt like he was in a play, and everyone, including him, had been horribly miscast.

"You'll contact us first thing if you hear from them, of course," said Bergfalk.  She sounded honestly worried.

"Yes, of course," said Jasper, trying to be reassuring.  Far be it for him to let a lady continue on in such distress.  Of course, the lady in question was working for the evil regime that had killed large portions of his relatives, and wanted to capture Lady Rowena and take her back to gods only knew what, but still, Jasper had principles.

"Thank you," said Bergfalk.

"We will report everything we hear about them to you, of course," said his father, who swiped the book from Jasper while his attention was elsewhere.

Jasper frowned as Father handed the bestiary to Grummond, who inspected the bestiary in the careless way of one who either does not love books, or who is making a show of his disinterest.  After an agonizingly long time, he threw the book at Jasper, who caught it.  "I suppose it's nothing of interest," he said.

Jasper smiled nastily at him.  "The uncultured masses always have such short attention spans," he said.

"Well, I suppose if you prefer looking at _pretty_ _pictures_ instead of _serious_ magic --"

"Let's not argue, gentlemen," said Bergfalk, putting one arm around each of them and beaming dazzlingly at them in turn.  "Well, we'd better be going," she said to his father.  "Thank you for your cooperation."

"Of course," said Salazar.  "If you need anything further, don't hesitate to ask."  He snapped his fingers, and Peeves was there.  "Peeves, show them out, if you will."

And with that, the Aurae left, following the goblin.  Jasper watched them go suspiciously.  "Well?" he asked.

"I promised them our Aurae Cuprorum," his father sighed.  "I couldn't do anything else."

"And the goblins?" Jasper asked, worriedly.

"You know, I didn't mention them," said his father, as if this was an absent-minded mistake.  "But they didn't ask, and everyone knows I've got them.  They'd never dare use my goblins, though."

"Why not?" Jasper asked.

"Well, for one, they're enslaved, like the Aurae Aurelii," his father said.  "If they weren't, they'd kill us all.  But the Aurae can't trust them, so they don't want them.  The Cuprorum are sworn to me, but they're not bound by magic, so they can be threatened or bribed."

"Hmph.  Some loyalty," said Jasper, wrinkling his nose.

"Now, now, Jasper.  I'm not going to ask any of them to disobey the Aurae Aurelii," said his father.  "That would be _wrong_ of me.  But I know that Ophelia favors the stick over the carrot, and if I were to offer them a small bonus, an explanation of what's at risk, an offer of protection to their families if any _ruffians_ come along who have a problem with honest law enforcement....  It's all about likability, really."

"I suppose," said Jasper, who, unlike his father, couldn't stand to leave anything up to chance.  Chance made him anxious.  "Tell me what you know about the surveillance spells, at least?  So I can work out how to fool them."

"Oh, that," said his father.  "I pocketed Aurelius Perkinson's cheat sheet while he wasn't looking.  I really should've been a pickpocket," he said cheerfully.  "Then again, there's more money in politics, and it's basically the same business model."

Jasper rolled his eyes.  "Yes, all right," he said, taking the parchment.  He looked over it, then perked up.  How interesting!  "This is going to take some doing.  Do you need me for anything else?" he asked.  It was only polite to ask before disappearing into his office and working on maths all day.

"Do what you have to do," said his father, shooing him off.  "Go away.  Just remember to come down and eat supper sometime before tomorrow."

 


	30. Chapter 30

Rowena loved flying.  Alone.  On her own broom.

What she didn't like was a three-day journey alongside some arsehole like Basil on cheap brooms which were a literal pain in the arse, and which they'd bought in Wyke from idiots who like as not didn't know how to reinforce the steering spells against the damage high wind sometimes caused.  She had tried to explain to Basil that it would probably be a good idea to let her go over the spells and perhaps reinforce them or at least shield them, but he had insisted that they didn't have enough time to sit around in Wyke, but being a _werewolf,_ he could see that the spells were fine and so on and so forth, as if Rowena had somehow managed to forget his condition.

Rowena _didn't_ think the spells were fine; she wouldn't have let anybody she liked fly these brooms any further than down the road for some bread, but the only people who were going to be riding these brooms were herself and Basil, and she didn't like either of them much at all, so she supposed it wasn't such a shame if something went wrong, except everybody else would be stranded, of course.

They tried to fly over less populated areas, although they were up high enough that probably nobody would notice them, and the nice thing about air travel was that you didn't really have to worry about running into bandits on the road.

In fact, one of the especially nice things about air travel, as it turned out, was that you could spot bandits from the air.  Basil pointed out a crime in progress, and Rowena, who was so bored she had resorted to mentally playing back the Aeneid in her head, having gone through all her favorite stories already, said "Oh, let's go down there and give them a good walloping.  How many are there?  I can't see a bloody thing."

Basil squinted down.  "Seven against four.  One of them's a _nun._"

"...What, one of the bandits?"  Rowena asked.

"One of the travelers, _obviously,_" said Basil, starting downwards.  "Come on, that walloping idea's the first good one you've had all day.  Besides, we'll need the money."

They swept down and attacked the bandits, who turned out to be Muggles and cowards besides.  Rowena and Basil easily Stunned three of the bandits, and the elderly nun managed to trip another up with her walking stick and kick him in the head.  The others turned and fled.  "Shall we go after them?" Basil asked the travelers.  It was obvious that they too were Muggles.

The nun spoke up.  "They have nothing of ours, do they?"  She looked at her fellow-travelers, a monk, a teenage boy, and a little girl.  The two children were dressed well, and probably second and third children of some lord.  "If they did, it would be nothing important, certainly.  You might as well let them go.  Perhaps they will change their ways."  She smiled, gently.  Then the bandit she'd kicked in the head moaned, and she whapped him with her walking stick again until he was quiet.  "Thank you for helping us."

"It was nothing," said Rowena, shrugging.  "Well, I mean, it was something, but --"

"It was good fun!" said Basil, enthusiastically.  "D'you mind if we sort of, er, help ourselves to what they've got on 'em?  We're in some trouble ourselves, you see."

The nun looked at her companions.  "Any objections?"

Her tone suggested that they would regret it if they voiced any.  "Certainly not, Prioress," said the monk, quickly.

"Very good!  And where are you off to, then?" she inquired.

Basil was searching the unconscious bandits for coins, so Rowena answered.  "Home to Scotland," she said cheerfully, before she remembered they were travelling incognito.  Basil shot her a look.  Still, they were Muggles, and besides, Rowena liked this prioress.  She had most likely taken the veil because she was too interesting or ferocious for her family to marry her off.

"Aah.  Yes, both of you are far from home, aren't you?  But you, sir wizard, you don't sound Scottish."

"Live there now," said Basil.  He shot Rowena another look before evidently coming to the same conclusion as Rowena.  "Born and raised in London, though."

"London!  And why did you go to Scotland, then?" the prioress asked.

Basil grinned at this as he opened a bandit's money purse.  "Well, I just like the weather better.  It's very -- ouch!"  He shook his hand out, letting the coins fall.

"Is something wrong?" asked the prioress.

"No, no," said Basil, sounding a little strangled.  "Just, something sharp in here."

"Oh!  Oh, right," said Rowena, suddenly remembering that Muggle money was nearly all silver.  "Sorry."  She hurried over to take the money for him.

"Will that do us?" Basil whispered, looking at the money in her hand.  "I don't know Muggle money."

"...Probably," Rowena said.  She wasn't used to travel on a budget, but if things really didn't work she supposed they could steal food.

Basil sighed.  "Well, he's the only one with any money, so it's going to have to be enough."

Rowena counted it out.  "Think we'll be all right," she said.  She took out a third of the coins and went to the prioress.  "We'd best be going, but for your church, I suppose a donation is in order.  Especially considering you did thwack one of the stupid bastards senseless."  She handed the prioress the coins.

"Thank you, but we don't need --"

"Oh, it's no trouble," said Basil, sounding strained.  "Really.  Yeah.  Can I -- can I have a word with you?"  He dragged Rowena off the road and hissed, "What'd you do that for?"

"You should always be kind to travelers and strangers," said Rowena.  It was basic xenia.  "Everybody's a traveler eventually."

"Yeah, like we are _now_, when we need money," said Basil.

"Look, if you must, think of it as a thanks-for-not-stoning-us gift," said Rowena.  "Or a we-occasionally-take-advantage-of-having-magic-to-hurt-you tax."

"You're not even _Christian_," said Basil, in disbelief.

"Look," said Rowena.  "She's an old lady, in the woods.  When you're travelling and you meet an old lady in the woods, do you want to be the one who helps, or do you want to be the one who gets eaten by a hag?"

"I have killed plenty of hags," said Basil.  "It doesn't require purity of heart.  Mainly, it requires reflexes and good judgment, both of which I have in abundance, and you..."  He frowned, then said, charitably, "Well, your reflexes are all right.  Anyway, I think we'll be fine."

"You do realize she could be _anybody_, right?" Rowena.  "And as I assume she is who she says she is -- a prioress -- she could easily make a bit of trouble for us out of sheer pettiness.  I don't think she _would.  _I think she's a harmless --"  She paused, then corrected herself.  "I think she's a moderately dangerous but well-intentioned old lady.   And if you like, you can go right back and tell her to give the money back.  But personally, I listen to my conscience."

He sighed.  "Fine."  He trudged back to the road, muttering, "..._her_, lecturing _me_ about having a conscience."

They bade farewell to the Muggles -- the prioress suggested a Muggle inn along the road where the innkeeper was honest and the food was cheap -- and they continued on broom.  They stayed the night at the place the prioress recommended, and were well-received; she'd apparently reached her abbey and sent messengers out to inform the innkeeper that their strange guests had stepped in to save the prioress from bandits, and that she would pay for their meals.  (Rowena was a bit smug about this.)

The innkeeper, an otherwise kind man, had somehow assumed they were a married couple, a notion Rowena wasn't keen to disabuse him of -- and Basil seemed to be of the same mind -- so they handled the conversation about "how long have you been married?" (Basil answered this with the date he'd married Helga, and left out the bit about the Inferi that had attacked the night of) and "got any kids?" (One, a daughter, said Rowena) with minimal strain and a lot of vagueness.  They had a short but bitter argument over who would be sleeping on the floor, each trying to out-self-sacrifice the other, but in the end Rowena decided the bed was hardly any softer, and took it for herself.  The next morning they left at dawn.

* * *

Clio was willing to bet Leander had never had so many distinguished guests in his bedroom at once before.  There was Clio, the Aurelia Imperatrix, lying in Leander's bed recovering from her wounds, and Her Grace the Duchess of Ithaca Magica and of Sarpedon, Most Holy and High Priestess of Apollo Iatrus and of Artemis Locheia, Healer to the Chief of the Wizards' Council, scolding Clio for being so reckless about having tried to walk, and Her Imperial Majesty the Empress Magica, Chief of the Wizards' Council, Duchess of Aeaea and of Caledonia Magica, Thorn in the Side of All Who Knew Her, Devourer of Stolen Baked Goods, Ruiner of Perfectly Good Goblin Blades, and so forth, who was the only cheerful person in the room,  mostly because she was telling Leander what to do with his decor.

And hitting on him, which seemed to make him terribly uncomfortable.  For once in her life, Clio was glad that Healer Kewesh was here, and also that Healer Kewesh disapproved so strongly of extramarital sex with prostitutes.  (Either that or she was a hypocrite, because whatever Healer Kewesh got up to with her sister-in-law, it was pretty damn extramarital.)  Lady Aeaeae was inquiring leeringly about a sword hung on one wall, a very fancy one from Damascus that he certainly knew nothing about.

Leander smiled nervously.  "Er, I, Clio gave it to me, your ladysh-- hign-- majes--"

"Ophelia," Lady Aeaeae supplied helpfully.  She looked like a cat who'd caught a mouse.  "Tell me, do you know how to handle a sword?"

"He's absolutely bloody hopeless at it," said Clio, helpfully.  Leander catered mostly to the wealthy and powerful, so if he was intimidated by Lady Aeaeae, it was probably because he was a good judge of character, and not just because of her position.  Or maybe it was that Clio'd told him some of the horrible things Lady Aeaeae asked for.  Certainly, one asked different horrible things of one's bodyguards and one's prostitutes, but horrible people asked for horrible things, and they didn't like to hear the word "no," so if she continued in this vein, Clio would hate her even more.

Lady Aeaeae opened her mouth again to say something else awful, but fortunately Goronwy finally showed up.  "Oh good, you're all here," he said, looking around.

"Indeed we are," said Healer Kewesh.  "You might've arrived sooner."

"The Portkey from Hogsmeade was late, and then I ran into some vampires on the way," said Goronwy.  "This neighborhood is far too close to the Nocturne for my taste, Lady Aeaeae, and I really think Clio ought to be moved."

Healer Kewesh piped up.  "I also think this... this _place_ is unbecoming of the dignity of the office which Aurelia Sheffield holds."

Lady Aeaeae looked at Clio.  "Do you want to be moved?"

"Nope," said Clio.  At least in this, Lady Aeaeae was a good employer.  "Sorry, Healer Kewesh.  Fuck off, Goronwy."

"A decision has been reached," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Thank you, both of you, for your input.  Aurelius Grummond, I believe you had news for us?"

"Yesterday, the prioress of Arthington Priory was saved from bandits by a Scotswoman with Mediterranean looks, and a fair-haired freckly Londoner.  They descended from the sky on broomsticks and used spells to drive the bandits off, and told her they were going to Scotland," said Goronwy.  "So impressed was she by their valor, their charity, their kindness, that upon reaching her destination she straightaway sent a messenger to the Abbot of Bidemere, who of course is a Kentigernian, praising his efforts at instilling Christian values into the hearts and minds of the magical.  And the Abbot knew by description that the lady was probably your daughter."  He nodded at Lady Aeaeae.  "So he sent me an owl straightaway, describing these events, and now we know exactly where they were yesterday, and how they're travelling.  I assume the Londoner is Hufflepuff, and that they are getting to Hogsmeade to summon the Transport Key, which means the others we're looking for are still in Wyke somewhere, hiding."

"And Slytherin's allowing us to use his Aurae Cuprorum?" Clio asked.

"He tried to slither out of it, but eventually we got him to agree.  They even let us put wards around the castle," said Goronwy.

"And Alfhild sent a note with an earlier Portkey.  She said you got into a dust-up with Jasper Slytherin," Clio said pointedly.

Goronwy went red.  "The library's full of books I haven't read!"

"And you were as charming as you always are," said Clio, sarcastically.

"Of course I was!" Goronwy said, not catching her tone.  "...He called me a _commoner,_" he added, defensively.

Clio rolled her eyes.  "Right.  Let's talk about the actual relevant bits of the whole thing, shall we?  Slytherin was too cooperative.  We weren't to trust his coppers at any rate, but there you go, by just giving them to us he's told us they're worthless anyway, yeah?"  She looked at Lady Aeaeae, who nodded.  "See?  This politics bullshit's easy.  I could do your job if I liked kissing arses."  Clio was fairly certain she was the only person who could get away with talking like this to Lady Aeaeae, but it did get her a raised eyebrow.  "So we're not going to let them work for us, at least not unsupervised.  They're loyal to Slytherin but they're not so loyal they'd risk trial for treason."

"He does have connections," Healer Kewesh pointed out.  "He can spirit people out of Europe -- Hermes only knows where they end up."

"Koschei the Deathless' people seem to think sometimes they end up in Rus," said Lady Aeaeae.

"Koschei the Deathless has _people?_" Healer Kewesh asked.  "I thought we were at war with that frozen corpse."

"'People' is charitable," said Lady Aeaeae.  "He has ...things."

"They _used_ to be people," said Clio, helpfully.  "Anyway, the last border skirmish was weeks ago and the rotting bastard pays well for unicorn blood."

"_Ophelia,_" said Healer Kewesh, scandalized.

"Look, I've got to make up for budget shortfalls somehow," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Next time you're running an empire -- oh, wait, you haven't the nerve or the ambition, have you?"

"Well, I also didn't kill my father," said Healer Kewesh, nastily.  She must've instantly realized she'd overstepped some invisible boundary, because she added, "I'm sorry, Ophelia, that was --"

"That was?" Lady Aeaeae demanded, giving her a very stern look.

"Well, he did _need_ killing," said Healer Kewesh, frowning.

The look became a glare.

"I suppose it was more self-defense, wasn't it?" said Healer Kewesh.

An arched eyebrow.

"And he had so many enemies, I suppose he'd have been dead soon anyway," said Healer Kewesh, in what was by far the most charitable and soothing voice Clio had ever heard her use.

"Don't bring up my father," snapped Lady Aeaeae.

"-- I didn't _mean_ \--"

"You _know_ better."

"You know," said Healer Kewesh, still trying to be comforting, "they actually celebrate the day when --"

"If you don't shut up I _will_ have your head mounted on my wall at home, and I'll throw the rest of you to that bloody great kelpie that looks like a sea-dragon."

There was an uncomfortable silence.  "...So," hazarded Healer Kewesh, "Slytherin _could_ send all his Aurae Cuprorum to Rus, or wherever else he sends people."

"Yes, but then he'd be out all his local human armed forces, and it certainly wouldn't do much for his reputation as a good lord to swear loyalty to.  And even if he did want to sacrifice that reputation, he'd have to use his goblins to keep order.  Goblins!  I should think the peasantry would rebel," said Lady Aeaeae.  "Besides, that would use up an awful lot of favors just to keep some grunts alive.  It's not practical.  And my Aurae can beat up his Aurae, so if we keep them all supervised.... Cliodna, how many of them could one of you take in a fight?"

Clio considered this.  "Alfhild, easily six or seven if they're stupid enough to piss her off, otherwise four or five.  Jan, there's a good chance they'll underestimate him, probably at least two.  Hatim, I dunno, he's all right in a duel but he needs prep time for all his better work, I try to keep him out of the front lines.  Leave him to handle anything funny Jasper Slytherin pulls.  Bogdanovic will try to kill at least one person if we let him out there, but his attention span's limited, so I think his limit's two, one to watch the other one's back.  Maelys... One.  Two, maybe?  Her spells hit hard but she's got no strategy.  Goronwy can probably handle two of them --"

"Two?" Goronwy demanded, insulted.

"You're right, that _is_ giving you too much credit," said Clio.  "Two if they're both men.  If one's a woman, he's fucked, he'll be staring at her tits.  And that leaves me, and I'm out of commission, so none for me.  So I'd suggest putting Alfhild on this and Jan, and if we can get Hatim back from ...where is he, Barcelona?"

"He's handling that horrible serial necromancer case, yeah," said Goronwy.  "Nasty stuff.  I say next time we have something that fucked-up going on, we point Bogdanovic in the right direction and don't ask questions."

"Justice preempts vengeance.  But this bullshit preempts justice.  Call him back, I want someone good to deal with the arithmancy on this, and he and Jasper Slytherin studied under some of the same people."

"I could handle the arithmancy," said Goronwy.  "Besides, that necromancy stuff is..."  He shuddered.  "_Somebody_ needs to take care of it, and he's good at that finding criminals stuff."

"You're certain you can do this?" Clio asked.

"I got a good look at his library, and I've got all his legal book purchases and loans from the last ...six years, I think?" said Goronwy.  "If you know what somebody's read, you know how they think."

Clio didn't really think that was true, but Goronwy was educated and she really wasn't, so he probably knew better.  "All right, we've got that covered, but it'd be nice to get to them _before_ they get to Slytherin's castle.  I don't know if _we've_ got anybody to spare, but if there are trustworthy allies between Hogsmeade and where they we know they were last... can I see a map?"

Goronwy unfolded the standard-issue map he carried with him, put it in her lap, and charmed a red X onto a town in the North of England.  "Yesterday morning they were here.  I don't know what they're using for landmarks, but if it was me, I'd go to York, follow Dere Street north, and then I'd --"

She stopped him.  There was something wrong with the route he was tracing over the parchment, but she could not for the life of her recall what it was at first.  Then she turned to Lady Aeaeae.  "Haven't we been having problems with land-elves in the countryside around there?"

"Learmont's on it," said Lady Aeaeae, sourly.  Clio had never met the mysterious Learmont, but rumor had it he was the only Aura to survive having his job taken from him.  Whatever he'd done had displeased Lady Aeaeae so much that, though he was still technically bound by the Unbreakable Vow, he had been stripped of his honorific, his uniform, and most of his pay, and sent to fight the fae.

"Yes, well, all right, I _wouldn't_ take that route right now," said Goronwy, grumpily, "I'd go around the elves --"

"But _they_ wouldn't," insisted Clio, "because we didn't _mention_ to anyone that it was going on, did we?  You said people didn't need to know and Lady Aeaeae -- sensibly," she added hastily, "said that every little thing that goes wrong doesn't have to go out to the public, and Healer Kewesh pointed out that there would be panic in the evacuation and I thought more people would die in the ensuing chaos than they would if we just let Learmont nip it in the bud before they hit any cities.  I mean, consider what happens every time it gets out that the Nocturne is restive."

"Er.  Well," said Goronwy.  "...Are you thinking Hufflepuff and Lady Ravenclaw are going to run into them?"

"Well, it'd be awfully convenient for them if the Seelies got their hands on a couple of valuable hostages," said Clio.  "One to make demands of the government," she said, looking at Lady Aeaeae, "and one, to, well... you can't deny that Helga Hufflepuff is extremely powerful when she wants to be.  Never mind that half the castles in Britain are guarded by her plants.  She'd make a powerful enemy if the elves had her on their side."  Clio realized that Lady Aeaeae was uncharacteristically horrified.  "Not that Hufflepuff could do much damage long-term," she said, quickly.  "Her methods leave a trail, she'd be easy to find, and I think we could defeat her without --"

"We don't have to worry about hostages," said Lady Aeaeae, shakily.  "The fairies in question are Unseelie."

There was a very loud silence.  Healer Kewesh finally spoke up.  "Well, then, send a messenger _now!_  Learmont will _have _to help -- and perhaps we can intercept --"

"No," said Lady Aeaeae.  She swallowed before speaking again.  "Cliodna, do you remember the unpleasant but expedient plan we discussed?"

Clio stared at her, and then realized what she meant.  But Lady Aeaeae looked so upset that Clio couldn't see how she _could_ mean it.  Finally, because Clio was an unsubtle soul and did not like hidden meanings, she said, "You mean you're going to let them _kill_ her?"

Lady Aeaeae started to explain.  "If we can replace her --"

"_What?_" demanded Healer Kewesh.

"I'm so confused," said Goronwy.  He peered at his map, folded it up, then unfolded it and studied it again, as if it might explain everything.

"Nobody knows about the fairies stationed there," said Lady Aeaeae, sounding remarkably calm.  "It's the perfect way to get rid of --"

"_Ophelia!_" shouted Healer Kewesh.  "...If you'll excuse us?  Ophelia, can we talk about this outside?"  She practically dragged Lady Aeaeae out of the small room, into the corridor.

Goronwy looked at Clio.  "She wants to let the fairies kill her daughter?"

Clio sighed.  "It's politically expedient."

"Have you _read_ any of Lady Rowena's work?  She's a _genius,_" said Goronwy.  "The loss to the field of magical theory would be unimaginable.  I mean, she is horrible, but she's a good theoretician."

"I've no use for theory, but personally, I like her writing on the Homeric epics," said Leander, looking up from his book.  "Completely mad, but strangely plausible.  On the other hand, it _does_ occur to me that it'd be a terrible tragedy if Ophelia Aeaeae was assassinated right outside my door because her two bodyguards were inside faffing about whilst she was having some silly private conversation.  Do you mind cracking the door open a bit?"

"You're right," said Clio.  "It's our civic duty to listen in.  Goronwy?"

Goronwy stealthily slid the door open just a crack, and they all listened in silence.  Irritatingly, Healer Kewesh and Lady Aeaeae were speaking too quietly for Clio to catch everything they said, but fortunately Healer Kewesh started to raise her voice.

"...and of course she isn't going to do what you tell her to, but _Ophelia, she's your daughter!_"

Lady Aeaeae's voice was quiet and icy, and all that was clearly audible was "...not your place... ...terrible decisions."

"Well, of _course_ she is!  That's what kids do.  Listen, I had to talk my daughter out of becoming a _Christian_, but you don't see me --"

There was an inquiring-sounding sentence from Lady Aeaeae.

"Well, _everybody_ at university is doing it, it's just a phase -- look, the point is..."  And here, she lowered her voice again, frustratingly.

She fell silent in a few moments, and Lady Aeaeae was speaking again, in as cold a voice as Clio had ever heard.  She strained to hear, but could pick nothing out.

Then Healer Kewesh spoke again, shakily.  "Y-yes, yes of course.  I.  I mean, no, I wouldn't want that to happen.  As a matter of fact, I -- I -- yes.  Yes, well."  They heard footsteps coming back towards Leander's door, and all three of them tried to look so engrossed in the map that it had _never occurred_ to them to listen in.

Healer Kewesh burst into the room, looking very frightened.  "I have a -- a thing.  On the other side of the city!  Very urgent.  Must dash.  Goodbye," she said politely nodding at all of them, forgetting even to be disdainful of Leander.  She turned to go, then, remembering something, turned back.  "Sheffield!" she barked.  "I suppose you can start getting back to routine.  No riding or Muggle weapons of any kind.  _Light_ spellwork only.  For a week.  Or else.  Goodbye!"  And then she was gone.  This sank in in a moment, and Clio sprang up off the bed to look for anything she'd left at Leander's, because by God she was sick of this room.

But before she could find anything, Lady Aeaeae reentered the room, looking much more like herself -- which was to say that she had clearly got her own way, and didn't look on the verge of tears anymore.  "Aurelius Grummond," she said, calmly, "I would like you to assemble candidates to be Obliviated, and remade into my daughter.  Now, the main challenge is the appearance, but the Unseelie do like to gloat over their victories; they may return a head, and with that we can make a great deal of Polyjuice Potion.  I will assemble a list of requirements, but the most important ones are that they be young women of noble blood, fairly strong magic, in good health, disposable to their families, literate -- but only of average intelligence or lower, and reasonably docile.  I think a facility with languages would make her especially convincing, so if you can think of anybody who doesn't quite fit the other qualities...."

Goronwy looked so stunned that Clio worried he might say something to get himself executed, so she decided to step in.  "Lady Aeaeae, what happens if they don't catch her?  She and Hufflepuff might somehow sneak past, or -- or get away, or take another route."

"If they take another route, the gods have decided in her favor," said Lady Aeaeae, "and I will be very relieved.  And if she does go that way, but manages to evade them somehow, which I doubt, well... perhaps she deserves to be my daughter after all."  She left without another word, and Goronwy hurried after her.

After a few moments, Leander checked the door to ensure that it was shut.  "I don't think _anybody_ deserves to be her daughter," he said.  "She's a terror.  ...Clio, that wasn't your idea, was it?"

"...No," said Clio, who was looking under the bed for her shoes.  "Trust me, Lady Aeaeae might be scary, but the daughter's a piece of work too.  At any rate, I don't mean to be rude, but I need to get the hell out of this room," she said.  "It's driving me _mad._  I can't stay another minute.  Where's my other bloody shoe?"

Leander tapped on her shoulder, and when she looked up, she saw that he was lying on his stomach on the bed, smirking.  He waved the missing shoe.  "Here it is, but you can't stay for just a little bit longer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I suppose getting the hang of dueling can wait a _little_," said Clio.  She took the shoe, dropped it on the floor next to the other one, then grabbed Leander by the front of his tunic and pulled him in for a kiss.

* * *

Godric was starting to feel quite horrible for the innkeeper.  Before the Norse contingent had left for Rome, Sindri had taken it into his head to do a spell on one of their rooms, which kept the room hidden unless they personally told anybody about it.  This made it easy for them to hide when the Aurae Cuprorum searched the inn, which they had done twice now, but, well, it must be horrible to lose an _entire room._  Godric hated losing things, and it wasn't a very big inn to begin with.

Godric was feeling especially sorry for her now, because she was currently trying to explain to the Aurae Cuprorum why she'd said she had six rooms when clearly there were only five.  The most bizarre thing about this was that he was watching from the doorway of the phantom sixth room and nobody noticed him at all.

"I must've made a mistake," she said, worriedly.  "And here I thought I was good at maths, ha!"

One of the coppers made a fist, and Godric leapt back, certain he was going to get punched in the face.  The man knocked on the empty air, listening to sounds only he could hear.  "It _seems_ like solid wall," he told his partner.

"It looked like there might be a room from outside," said the other one.  He shook his head.  "Sorry, Mistress Davies," she said.

"Sorry?" she snapped.  "You've been in here _twice_ already!  And _you_, Ernald," she said, turning to the other one.  "I expected better from you.  See if I don't talk to your father about this."

"Sorry, auntie," he said, hanging his head.

"Ern, shut up," said the first one.  "Look, it's just procedure.  This is the place they were at before, and the bloody Aurae Aurelii are getting all --"

"I don't care if they've threatened to turn you into _woodlice,_" she snapped.  "You lot have been over every inch of my inn three times now and it's worrying the customers."

"But I don't _want_ to be a woodlouse," Ern pointed out.  He frowned at the doorway again.

"Shut up, Ern," said his partner.  "Only you have to admit, it is _odd._  I always thought there were six rooms up here too."

"Well, apparently you don't know everything, do you?" said the innkeeper.  "Now run along back to the Aurae Aurelii and tell them Hiltrut Davies has had quite enough of them and their _fugitives_ and their _searches_ and their _orders._  And see if I give you any free pie next time you're on break," she said.

"It's very good pie, Mistress Davies," said the copper.  When this appeared not to move her, he said, "We'll just run along, then, won't we, Ern?"

Ern got out his wand, and eyed it speculatively.  "I wonder if we ought to try --"

"_Ern,_" said the other copper.  "Come _on._"

"Oh, all right," said Ern.  The innkeeper shooed them down the stairs, complaining all the while.

"I feel like we ought to apologize to her," said Godric.

"She seems nice enough," said Helga, "but we'd better not.  She might turn us in."

"Well, at least we'd get to go outside," said Godric, who had to marvel at Helga's continuing cheer; he was going a bit mad cooped up like this.  He wished he had brought something to read.

Helga snorted.  "What are you talking about, Godric?  When we're home you tend not to leave your office for three days straight.  This is a normal weekend for you."

"Well, yes, but it's not like I don't _do_ anything," said Godric.  "My weekends are very productive!"  Also, he didn't have to deal with _people_ in his office.  Helga was mostly all right, but she was still people.

"You don't even go to church," said Helga.  "Or _supper_."  She sounded somewhat concerned.

"Well, I'm sorry, but usually I have better things to do," said Godric.  If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was people _worrying_ about him.  It made him feel all _obligated._  And he wished Helga had not mentioned food, because he was getting very hungry.

There was a sudden clatter on the stairs, and soon Adela appeared, carrying two trays of delicious-smelling food.  She caught sight of the open door, and frowned.  "You're just leaving the door open like that?" she asked.

"It doesn't seem to make a difference," said Godric, shrugging.

"Did anybody notice you?" Helga asked.

Adela shrugged.  "I just, you know, grabbed the food from the kitchens and told 'em I was taking it up to room six.  I don't think it even registered.  Only Mum was yelling at Cousin Ern, so no one was listening anyway.  I _like_ Ern, but he's not very sensible," she said.  "Anyway, you lot are driving my poor old mother mad, so your friend had better come through soon.  It's bad enough I had to Obliviate her.  And you," she said, turning to Godric, "_you_ had better put in a good word for me to Prudentia Quigg, since apparently Fudge is _retired._"  She glared at him, as though she thought he was lying.

"He _is_ retired," insisted Godric.  "Prudentia Quigg's a _much _better Transfigurator, honestly."

"He's right, you know," said Helga.  "You wouldn't get on with Fudge at all, anyway."

"Right," she said, apparently unconvinced.  "There's your food, and this bloody spell had better be off the room when you leave," she said, "or I will hunt you down, turn you into sardines, and eat you."  She smiled, sweetly but unconvincingly.  "Have a good supper!"  Then she turned on her heel and left.

"I don't even _know_ Prudentia Quigg," moaned Godric, once he was certain she was out of earshot.  "What if she doesn't care about my recommendation?"

"Have you ever considered becoming a sardine?" asked Helga.

"I can't swim," Godric pointed out.

"Well, it wouldn't be for very long," Helga said, trying to sell it to him.  "She said she'd eat us."  More seriously, she added, "Godric, you're a _really good Transfigurator_.  You're not as famous as Fudge, but... well... I think your word counts for _something._  It _ought_ to, at any rate."  Godric had decided, for the moment, to put aside the troubling things she was lying about, because he had enough to worry about, but one of the things he found very irritating about Helga was that it was _so hard to hate her._

"I don't know," said Godric, feeling that to accept this compliment would make it impossible for him to return to accusing her of lying.  "I mean, rumors are just rumors.  Prudentia Quigg is probably the best Transfigurator in Britain."

Helga looked pointedly at him.  "Before Fudge retired, he was supposed to be the best."

"We did _flashy_ nonsense," said Godric.  "That and routine things people needed.  I never did anything for him that was, you know, _really_ difficult.  Prudentia Quigg's a _real_ Transfigurator.  She's an excellent theoretician.  She knows _exactly_ what she's doing."

"Oh, right," said Helga.  "So impressive-looking stuff that takes a lot of practice to make it look right isn't actually real Transfiguration.  And _obviously_ neither is stuff that people need you to do and while it may not look impressive, it's got to be effective or else the other people's spells will fail.  Is that right?  So exactly what is real Transfiguration?"

Godric sighed.  "Helga, sometimes people just want to wallow in misery and despair.  Is that so much to ask?"  He took a meat pie from one of the trays and took a huge bite out of it.  It was quite good, and he finished it off quickly.

"Well, yes, as I'm stuck with your misery and despair until we get home," said Helga, helping herself to some stew.

"Sorry," Godric muttered.  He supposed Helga would probably rather be stuck with Rowena than with him.  Or Basil.  Or, well, anyone, really.

And certainly Rowena would rather be stuck with Helga than practically anybody else.  This thought came unbidden, and had nothing to do with anything, really, only he was worried for Rowena and whatever inevitably terrible idea she would act on next, and it also made him a bit angry, really, that Rowena could be so blind to the fact that Helga was hiding something, and not hiding it well.

He didn't even _like_ Rowena.  He didn't _think_ he did, anyway.  Probably it was just that Godric was a sort-of-good person, and didn't like to see people unhappy or betrayed.  But Godric's anger was a selfish sort of anger; it did not feel like righteous anger at all.  He felt terribly guilty about it.

He was going over the whole situation again in his head for the second or third time when Helga finally said, "Is something wrong, Godric?  There's loads of food left."

"I'm not hungry," he said.  All this worrying had killed his appetite.  And he had no one to talk to but Helga.  Who was the problem, really.  Well, he had to say _something, _he decided.  "Look, I haven't forgotten what you said back when we were escaping, I'm _not _misremembering, and I'm not lying.  What's going on, and why are you lying to Rowena?"

Helga's cheerfulness was undamaged.  "What, do you honestly think I'm hiding some sort of _dark secret?_"

He gave her his most unimpressed look.  "I know you, Helga, and for the most part, I like you.  But you're... you're not being yourself.   And I think we both know what it's like to get so caught up in something that you don't notice it's gone wrong."

She raised an eyebrow, looking as if she was having a difficult time not laughing.  "Godric.  You think I'm a _spy?_"

"Not especially," said Godric, "but the fact that you jumped to that conclusion does worry me.  Look," he sighed, "if you _are_ doing something you shouldn't be, I know that you're not doing it for some simple banal reason like greed.  You've justified it to yourself, whatever it is, and you don't think you have a choice.  That's what makes this hard to do."

She smiled as if Godric had told a joke he didn't understand.   "Are you threatening me?"

Godric rolled his eyes.  "Well, a bit.  Whatever you're doing, I'm going to find out," he said, sternly.  The grin did not vanish from her face.  "Look, Helga," he said, frustrated that she wouldn't take him seriously, "you've pretty much admitted to me that you're up to something.  I don't like you lying to Rowena about me.  She knows perfectly well you're lying, and even if you don't care about me, I _know_ you care about Rowena, and if you've been working with her mother this whole time --"

"Oh _come on_, Godric," said Helga, who had gone from a smirk to a glower.  "You think I would betray her?"

"I don't _know_ what you'd do," said Godric.  "All I know is you've got a pretty nasty streak -- you always have.  D'you remember the time you and Rowena tied me to my ankles to that broom and just let it fly over the forest?  And then there was the time you and Rowena were having a row, so you bribed me to transfigure all her hair into tapeworms.  And then there was that irritating French girl who you and Rowena --"

"I don't do that sort of thing anymore!" said Helga, now looking quite appalled.  "And believe me, I'm sorry I did.  I didn't realize -- I thought..."  She trailed off.  "...Look.  I -- I think I made a mistake.  A really, really dreadful, horrible, life-changing bad mistake.  And Rowena's mum got me out of it.  And -- and she said I would owe her a favor.  I didn't -- I didn't know who I was dealing with, she was just, you know, Rowena's mum who runs the world.  She was -- she was _nice._  You know how she can be nice," said Helga.

"I ...don't, actually," said Godric, frowning.

"Well, she can.  She can be really, _really_ nice," said Helga, blinking back tears.  "And she was the only one who could get me out of trouble, and I thought, well, all right, I'll owe her one."

"I don't understand.  Why didn't you just deal with the consequences?" Godric asked.  It wasn't like Helga, letting somebody else clean up her mistakes.  "I mean, running away like an idiot's something _I_ would do."

Helga was crying now.  "I _couldn't._  The only way --"  She took a shaky breath.  "There was a mob of people out for my blood.  People I'd never met.  They didn't even know who I was.  But I'd wronged them, and if they ever found me --"

"What did you _do?_" asked Godric, horrified.

"I don't -- I don't want to talk about it.  I don't remember what I did, but -- but I have a pretty good guess," said Helga, shakily.  "You can't tell Basil," she said.  "Or Rowena.  They think I'm a good person.  I couldn't bear it if -- I just -- I didn't betray anyone.  Not intentionally.  But I've done much worse, I think, and I can't ever make up for that."

Godric patted her on the shoulder, gently.  "I don't understand what happened, but I'm sorry," he said.  Then, hating himself for saying it, he added, "You're going to have to tell Lord Slytherin, though.  When we get back.  He's going to be _really_ upset with all of us."

"I know," said Helga, looking frazzled and sad.

He didn't really know what to say after that, and they sat in silence for a long while.

 


	31. Chapter 31

The sun was setting when Rowena and Basil began to run into trouble.  Actually, it was more that they drifted slowly downwards into trouble, but Basil didn't notice how quickly the spells on his broom were unraveling until he found himself lurching downwards much too fast.

"What _are_ you doing?" demanded Rowena, swooping down to fly at his height.  She let out a startled yelp as she dropped ten feet further without meaning to.  "I told you, I _told_ you the brooms weren't --"

"Oh _shut up_," snapped Basil.  "We'd better get to --"  He plummeted towards the ground, halting once again quite a ways down.

Rowena began to descend as quickly and carefully as she could.  Basil thought she was being more than a bit reckless, actually, but that was how Rowena was generally.  He descended as well, and before long the two of them had made their way jerkily to the wooded hills below.

"And you didn't listen to me, did you?" said Rowena, pulling Basil to his feet.

"In my defense you do complain about everything, often," said Basil, glaring.  He dusted himself off and picked up his broom.  "Come on.  We'll make better time if we spend our energy walking instead of arguing."

Rowena glared at him, then put her broom over her shoulder and followed.  "Hey, wait a minute," she said.  "Why are we still carrying these useless things?"

"Firewood?" said Basil.  "Impromptu weapons?  I dunno, I find things tend to come in useful once I decide to get rid of them.  Where the hell's the road?" he demanded, peering through the shadows.  "We're going to have to --"  He froze.  There was _something wrong._  He could hear it.

"Going to have to _what?_" demanded Rowena.

"Shhh!" he hissed, furious.  It was too quiet.  He stood still and held his breath, trying to hear.

There was a distant, distinctly canine howl.

"...Werewolves?" Rowena asked.  She sounded properly terrified now.

Basil simply glared at her.  "I thought you were supposed to be _clever._"

"Oh!  Oh, right, of course," said Rowena.

"It's not even the full moon, or else we could bloody well _see_," snapped Basil.

"Oh _shut up_," snapped Rowena.

He shushed her again.  There was more howling from far off.

"Maybe they're dogs?" Rowena asked.  "I mean, maybe they're not ..._wolves_."

"I'd rather they were wolves," said Basil.  "At least wolves are afraid of people.  But they're probably dogs; we're still in the Lowlands and the wolf hunts have been more effective here."

"Dogs are all right, though," said Rowena.  "I'm good with dogs!"

"Let's not find out what they are," said Basil, decisively.  "We've got to find somewhere to get inside."

"Oh, right, yeah," said Rowena, "because absolutely everybody around here is going to let us in without testing us with silver first, especially considering the _wolves._"

"Maybe they're just dogs," said Basil.  "Come on."  He started walking in a direction he _thought_ was away from the howl, until he heard another one coming from ahead, and froze.

"Don't walk towards them," snapped Rowena.  "We don't know whose dogs they are!  They could be Muggles."

"Or worse," said Basil.  "Come on, let's at least get out of these trees."  They started walking uphill, where, Basil hoped, the trees would thin out and they could at least get a good view of anything if it came after them.

There was another howl, this time nearer, and louder still, and again from ahead.

Basil swallowed, taking a few steps back reflexively.  "Do you... get the feeling we're being --"

"Triangulated?" Rowena asked.

"Herded," said Basil.

"But there must be at least two different packs," said Rowena.

"There aren't, not of wolves.  They'd have distinct territories," said Basil.  "Besides, they must be hounds.  They're barking."  He could hear this now, quite distinctly, although he could no longer tell the direction.  This had only happened to him once before.

"They're not the only ones," muttered Rowena, under her breath.  Basil decided not to comment.  "The thing is, noblemen have distinct territories too.  There wouldn't be two packs of hounds out either -- and -- and -- and there's no game," said Rowena.  "Not even a rabbit."

The barking grew louder.  Basil was completely disoriented now, and it terrified him.  One horrible conclusion cut through his confusion and fear.  "They're hounds, but they don't belong to any human nobles.  They're hunting us."  He took a deep breath, to steady himself.

"Oh," said Rowena, in a very small voice.  "Oh.  Well.  We ought to run," she suggested.  Then, dropping her broomstick, she broke into a mad scramble, surprising Basil slightly.  "Come on!" she shouted.  He ran after her, because her direction was as good as any.

They ran, stumbling often, occasionally struggling through thick bushes.  Basil spotted a deer path, and dashed down it.  He heard Rowena stumbling after him, but halted when he heard barking in front of him, and Rowena ran into him as he stumbled backwards.  "They're right behind us!" she hissed at him.

"They're right in _front_ of us," he insisted.  He turned around, shoved past her, and saw several sets of terrible red eyes coming towards them.  He lit his wand, for surely the dogs could smell the terror on him, and a good look wouldn't make anything worse.  They were enormous, the size of cows, and all white except for their pointed red ears and mad eyes.

"Good doggies, nice doggies," Rowena was saying, behind him.  "You're the bestest, sweetest giant horrible man-eating fairy hounds in the world, yes you are!"

The hounds threw back their heads and howled -- a chilling, mournful sound that seemed to go on forever.  What was worse, though, was that Basil heard a very low, answering bay from further away, and then the sound of a horn.

"I think I preferred the bears," Rowena said.

"I thought you said you were good with dogs," Basil muttered.

"Turns out I'm better with bears.  Do you think spells will do anything but make them angry?"

Basil looked at the growling dogs.  "No," he said.

"Then give me your broomstick," said Rowena.

"What?"

"Give me your broomstick," she said.

"Tell me you're not going to try and play fetch," said Basil.

"The only place we can go is up," said Rowena, "but I ditched my broom back there somewhere, and you've still got yours."

Basil realized that he _had_ still got his broomstick, although he had quite forgot about it, probably because his entire arm had gone numb from holding it over his shoulder.  He pressed it into her hands and shook out his arm, which was going all pins-and-needles.  "Are you trying to repair it?"

"Yes.  Don't bother me, hold off the dogs," she said.

"How am I supposed to hold them off?" he demanded.

"I don't know!  Share funny stories about eating squirrels and howling at the moon or something," she snapped.  "_Bugger_.  I can't even see what I'm doing," she snarled, fishing around in a bag for something.

"What are you looking for?"

"My aura-lens," she sighed.

The hounds were circling now, but at least they weren't coming any closer.  The horn, though, seemed to be getting louder, and he heard shouting, and a deep-throated barking that seemed to come from a much larger dog.  He turned his lit wand towards the broomstick, and examined the spells on it.  He wasn't much for charms theory, but at least he could describe.  "The bit that's gone wrong is this orange, knotted spell right down there," he said, pointing to where the tail of the broomstick connected to the handle.

"That's ...all right, yes, thank you," she said.  "Is it entirely unraveled or just hanging by a thread?"

"It's completely frayed," said Basil.  He heard something _huge_ crashing through the undergrowth now, and hoofbeats.

Rowena took a deep breath, and shot magic at the broomstick.  "How is it now?"

"Hanging by a thread," said Basil.  The crashing grew louder.

She sighed.  "It'll have to be good enough.  Get on."

An enormous black dog emerged from the forest, big enough to break either of them in half in its huge maw if it so desired.  Basil scrambled onto the broom behind Rowena.  "Go, go, go!"

"You don't need to tell me!" she said.  And they were off, flying jerkily through the tops of the trees, the great black dog bounding after them, shaking the ground as it ran.  The smaller white hounds were faster, and ran beneath them, leaping up to nip at their heels, and the hunting horns grew closer.  Basil twisted around to look at the spell Rowena had fixed.  "It's coming undone again."

"Well, redo it, I haven't the time," she said.

Basil did what he could to repair the spell again, but he was a duelist, not a theorist, so it was only a stopgap, and the broom kept faltering as it flew.  At this point it was being carried along by momentum as much as it was by magic, but at least they had outflown the white hounds by a little bit.

"There's a light up ahead!" said Rowena.  "Oh, I hope it's civilization."

Basil put another stopgap spell on the unwinding broom magic, and turned back forward to see.  "Don't be too hopeful.  This _is_ Scotland."

"I can still dump you off this broom," she snarled.  Possibly, Basil had to admit, that had been a low blow.

The light grew into an immense bonfire, and when they emerged from the wood they saw that it was one in a line of bonfires built thirty or forty feet from the trees.  They were guarded by an immense number of witches and wizards, all of whom now had their wands trained on Rowena and Basil.

"Don't hex us, don't hex us!" shouted Rowena, waving her arms.  "The dogs!  It's the dogs you want!"  The broom finally lost interest in flying and lurched to the ground, and Rowena and Basil scrambled to their feet and ran towards the safety of the light, all the hounds of the Unseelie Court at their heels.

"Who are you?" demanded a burly witch, seizing Basil by the arm.  One of her companions had Rowena, who was struggling ferociously.  The white hounds were no longer after them, at least; Basil saw that three of them had been shot dead with arrows, and the rest had fled.

"We were travelling, and then we fell, and then the dogs, and then we -- " Basil started, but the great black hound had suddenly burst into the open and _howled._

"FIRE!" shouted one of the soldiers, and a hail of arrows, spears, and jets of bright, burning white magic flew at the hound, which whimpered and turned to run.

"God almighty, you outflew a _Grim?_" said the witch.

"Stop manhandling me!" shouted Rowena.  "Do you know _who I am?_"

Basil sighed.  They had just got to safety, but Rowena was going to ruin everything, as usual.

"No, I don't," said the wizard who was keeping hold of her.  "And I don't care, neither, only the nonhuman-detecting amulet just went mad, so one of you's an elfish spy."

"We're not spies!" shouted Rowena.  "And we're completely human!"  She paused.  "...Oh, well, except him," she said, nodding at Basil.

"Rowena!" Basil shouted.

"I knew it!" said the soldier with the amulet.  "He's a spy!"

"No he's not, he's only a werewolf," said Rowena.

"We'll see about that," said the soldier.

"Breckinridge, Reid, what the hell just happened?" demanded a third soldier.  The man rounding on them was taller than Rowena and Basil both, and very burly.  In the firelight, Basil could see that his hair was white, his face was scarred, and his eyes were a very light blue.  He looked almost otherworldly himself.

"Sir, these two came out of the woods like they were being chased, sir," said the wizard.

"We _were_ being chased," Basil pointed out.

"There was a _Grim_, sir, we saw it," said the witch, with more enthusiasm than fear.  "Knew they must have at least one down here, didn't I say so?  He didn't like the iron in our arrows, though, did he?  Anyway, she says this one's a werewolf, but they aren't giving their names."

"I think we should cut off one of his fingers with a silver knife, sir," said the wizard.  "And one with an iron one.  To see which one burns.  Just to be certain!  Sir."

"Good work, Breckinridge," said the man to the witch.  He turned to the wizard.  "Reid?"

"Yes, sir?" he said hopefully.

"Shut the hell up," said the man.  "And let go of her."

"Yes, sir," said Reid, glumly.  He released Rowena.

The man in charge turned to Basil.  "You.  Hold out your hand."

Basil knew there was going to be a silver test, and held out his hand wearily.  The man dropped three coins, one after the other, into Basil's hand; on the last one, he jerked his hand away and dropped them all, because it burned.

"Yup.  That's a werewolf," said the man.  "You can let him go," he told Breckinridge, who released him.  "Now," he said, "who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?"

"We were travelling, and our brooms... malfunctioned," said Basil, "and we ended up being chased by fairy hounds."

"Nobody's mentioned them being here.  Is this being hushed up?" Rowena demanded.  "And who the fuck are _you,_ anyway?  Do you know who I am?  I object in the extreme to being interrogated as though I were --"

"Yes, it is being hushed up," said the man, with surprising honesty.  "The name's Tom Learmont.  Aurelius, technically, but nobody calls me that anymore."  He looked at her more closely.  "You're Ophelia's girl, aren't you?"

Rowena, who had stopped her rant as soon as Learmont told them he was an Aura, looked stricken at his last question.  She did not say anything at all for a moment.  "What -- what nonsense!  I don't even know who you're talking about," she said.

Basil suppressed the urge to groan.

"It's just that you have her manners," he said.  "And her nose.  Nice flying, by the way."

"As we mentioned, we were having trouble with the brooms," said Rowena tensely.

"That wasn't sarcasm," he said.  He smiled, a little crookedly.  "You should stay the night."

Basil did not trust him.  He didn't think Learmont was lying, nor was he about to hurt them, but something was very wrong with him and Basil could not tell what it was.  What was especially baffling was that he had made no move to capture them.

"I -- we really ought to be going," said Rowena, slowly.  She looked at Basil, as if she was looking for escape plans in his face.  He didn't have any; they were outnumbered and this place was dangerous enough without making enemies of the soldiery.

Learmont's smile became wider.  "Are you on the run, then?" he asked, bluntly.

"No!" said Rowena.  "No, we're not."  She was not convincing.

Basil stepped in, because before he'd been a teacher he'd been a hunter and a duelist, and before that he'd been a cutpurse and a beggar, and all of these professions required a certain amount of deception.

"The thing is," he said, "Rowena was visiting her mother, and there was this ridiculous cockup with the Transport Key paperwork, and she didn't feel safe traveling alone, so Helga made me go with her.  _But_ it's Helga's birthday in a few days and if we're not back on time -- and we're already running behind -- well, you know how women are."  Basil silently apologized to Helga for this last bit; she had a tendency to forget their anniversary, as it was just before midterm exams.

"Christ, but I miss lying," said Learmont, looking amused.  "We weren't expecting you and I don't have any orders, if that's what you're worried about.  But, if by chance it _is_ your wife's birthday, I won't delay you.  Helping you out doesn't conflict with my standing orders, and I've had no new ones for months now.  And if Ophelia Aeaeae hasn't told me to capture you, well!  Who am I to question her?"

Rowena and Basil exchanged looks of mutual confusion, but Learmont clapped them both heartily on the back.  "You'll be wanting brooms."

"Yeah," said Rowena, suspiciously.  "Brooms."

"You know, I reckon we could stay the night," said Basil, slowly.  Learmont was clearly mad.  But he seemed _honest,_ at least.  This could be a trick.  "We really ought to rest.  It's been a long day."

"Helga will be _very upset_ if we miss ...that thing -- er -- I mean, that thing we're doing for her birthday," said Rowena.

"I think she'll be all right with it," said Basil.

"Oh no, you know how unreasonable and violently malicious we women are," she said pointedly.  Basil winced.

"You'd be surprised," said Learmont.  "The situation being what it is, our accommodations aren't exactly what you'd call _luxurious_, but I'll commandeer a tent."

At that, he left them, and Basil spent the next few moments looking around for guards, eavesdroppers, _anything_.  He saw that Rowena had had the same idea.  "He's just left us here," said Rowena, sounding befuddled.

"I really don't think he _is_ going to send us back," said Basil.  "He's ...he's _off_, somehow, but I think he's trying to be helpful."

"He's _overly familiar,_" said Rowena.

"Maybe he thinks you've got a common enemy," said Basil.

"Well.  I mean.  It sounds like we _have,_" said Rowena.  "Only -- I -- what I mean to say is, he gives me the jitters.  And he puts on such airs," she said.  "I mean, _Ophelia! _ Who _calls_ her that?"

"I don't know, but I'm tired," said Basil, "so take your tent and be happy with it.  Please?"

"I'm going to tell Helga you said that about her," said Rowena, sulkily.

Basil sighed.  They would be home in a day, if all went well, but it was still going to be a long trip.

* * *

Rowena was still uneasy about this whole Learmont versus the land-elves business.  The thing was, there was something _wrong_ with Learmont, she could feel it.  It was as if she knew him.  His presence set her on edge.  More bafflingly still, he was trying to be nice, and she wondered if perhaps she had forgotten some great wrong Learmont had done to her.  Perhaps he had stepped on her foot as a child.  She knew, vaguely, who he was -- some Aura Aurelius who had angered her mother.  Several nauseatingly awful possibilities occurred to her, but none of them seemed plausible.

He couldn't have tried to _hurt_ her, because the first order all Aurae had to follow, the one that had been in place since there _were_ Aurae, was to protect the Chief of the Council from harm.  Perhaps he had done something to her before she was Chief?  Or perhaps he had not been an Aura when he'd done it.  But surely a simple execution would have sufficed; Rowena knew her mother was rather less squeamish than she was about that sort of thing.

All that night, she had nightmares about her mother and Learmont and fairy hounds.  At one point in her dreams, she and Helga were hiding from a Grim, which was growling somewhere out of sight, when Helga turned to her and said "Can you hold this?"  And she took off her face and handed it to Rowena.  Sitting on her shoulders, where her head should have been, was a dark cluster of brambles.

Rowena looked at Helga's face in her hands.  It looked serenely lifeless.  "The trouble," said the brambles, in a windy, rustling voice that was somehow still Helga's, "is always putting it back on again before someone sees.  But I know I can trust you."

The freckled face in Rowena's arms -- the one she knew far too well -- smiled sweetly up at her.  Rowena dropped it with a start, and sat up, suddenly awake and terrified.

For a moment, Rowena could not recall which things that had happened in the dream could also happen in reality.  Helga had a real face, didn't she?  _Didn't she?_  Yes, of course she did.  _What a stupid question,_ Rowena thought.  She wished Helga was here; Helga would think the dream was hilarious.

Rowena glowered at the back of Basil's head; he was curled up in the other corner of the tent, his back to her, and apparently still asleep.  "Wake up!" she whispered at him.  "Basil!"  He didn't move.  She realized she was whispering out of politeness, and decided that there was really no polite way to wake somebody up.  "_Wake up!_" she shouted.

Basil groaned and rubbed at his eyes.  "Fine, fine, I'm up," he muttered.  "You don't have to be so _loud_ about it."

"Come on," said Rowena.   "Let's get out of here."  She clambered out of the tent, hoping they could have a quick snack before the final leg of their journey.  Her plan to get around the Aurae meant they had to go a bit out of their way before arriving triumphantly at the castle, but it was also _insanely clever_, so she wasn't as worried about that as she was about being able to leave the camp in the first place.

Learmont found her before she found something to eat.  "Where's your friend?" he demanded, brusquely.  His worryingly friendly tone from the night before was gone.

"Still half asleep, I think," said Rowena.  She looked around.  They were out in the open and there were people all around, so she supposed he probably wasn't going to do anything untoward to her, but she twirled her wand faux-absently so that at least he would know she had it with her.

"Well, get him up and get going," he snapped.  "The _real_ Aurae Aurelii will be here pretty soon and besides, Mike's about to blow off the top of the hill today to get at the goddamn elves, and they won't take that lying down."  He gestured at the huge hill, and grinned a bit madly.  "It's not a safe place to be right now."

"Right.  Right, of course," said Rowena.  Why was he telling her this?  She looked around for a quick exit.

"And I mean get going right away," he said, as if Rowena had displayed a tendency to lollygag.  He shoved two broomsticks and a large bundle into her arms.  "Here," he said.  "And there's some rations and nice little tents and --"

"We're only going to be travelling for a few days," said Rowena, a little frightened now despite herself.

"Right, yes, should be enough," said Learmont, "but if not --"

"I'll get Basil and we'll get out of your way," said Rowena, abruptly, before he could offer anything more.  "Thank you, and, er, good luck with the land-elves."  She turned around and hurried back to the tent, trying not to look as though she was fleeing or anything.  Mercifully, Basil was outside, awake, and seemed ready enough to leave.  "Augh," she said.

"Oh for Christ's sake, what now?" Basil asked, irritated.

"Get on your broom and I'll tell you in the air," said Rowena, handing him a broom.

"We're leaving now?" Basil asked.

"Yes.  Yes, we are leaving right now, no more questions."  She tied the bundle to her broom and started flying.

Basil caught up.  "Did you piss off Learmont?" he asked, getting his wand out.

"_No_," she moaned.  "He was being all ..._nice._  He gave us food," she said.  "And a tent."

"He must really hate your mum," said Basil.

"He _must_," said Rowena.  She saw Learmont on the ground, waving cheerfully.  "_So weird._  It was like... did your mum ever not let you go out in winter without the fur-lined cloak and the warming spells and the honor guard and all that?"

"Yes," said Basil, grimacing.  "Well, actually, it's against sumptuary laws for -- wait, do you mean an actual honor guard?"

"Yes," said Rowena, sighing.  "Conri Ersikyne was my favorite, but obviously he had more important things to do."

"She made _Ersikyne_ escort you around when you went out to play?" Basil asked.

"He was _really good_ at snow forts," said Rowena, wistfully.

Basil sighed.  "I miss Ersikyne."

"Everybody does," said Rowena.  It was mostly her fault he was dead, although for some reason Basil had never brought this up, or held it against her.  She would've, if she was him.  "I can't believe he picked _Sheffield_ for his successor."

"Well, she is the best fighter of the bunch," said Basil.  "We've dueled a few times."

Rowena rolled her eyes.  "Just because she beats _you_ all the time doesn't mean --"

"I'm a very good duelist," said Basil, as if he didn't put much stock in Rowena's opinion.  "Anyway, I did win once, back when we were hunters, but I don't think it really counts."

Rowena frowned.  "Why doesn't it --"

"I'd done something horrible, and she was very upset about it," said Basil.  "But it's really not any of your business.  Tell me about Learmont."

Now Rowena was really curious.  What could he have done to Sheffield?  Had they been lovers or something?  It seemed unlikely.  Whatever Basil's faults, he had good taste in women.  "Well, as I was saying, he gave us _tents._  And loads of food.  So now that they can't see us, I think we should drop down to the ground, ditch the tent and the food, and check the brooms for tracking charms.  I mean, considering the source, I suppose we should really do that anyway."

"Yeah, I was just going to say," said Basil.  "So, this charm you're going to do when we get to the lake -- are you _certain_ only one person can go at a time."

Rowena sighed.  "Well, I suppose the other option is that I make the bubble bigger, you come along with me inside it, and if things go wrong, we both drown.  It really would have been a lot easier if it was just me," she said.

"Yeah, except you would never have got away from the Grim without me," said Basil.

"But I also wouldn't have bought completely crap broomsticks, would I?" said Rowena.  "Do you have a better plan?"

"No, unfortunately," said Basil.  "I mean, we could fight our way through, but then if we win against the Auras and the Auras catch up with us later... unless Hogsmeade's coppers take our side.  Do you think that's likely?"

Rowena shook her head.  "I don't know what they'll have to keep an eye out for us, but if I was Lord Slytherin I'd be cooperating as much as possible right now, so probably some of Jasper's spells are being used, and the Hogsmeade Aurae Cuprorum are out looking for us too."

"Well, you don't think much of him," said Basil, looking surprised.  "Why are we even going back?"

Rowena rolled her eyes.  "It's not that I think he won't want us back, we're really valuable.  Well, _I'm_ really valuable," she said.  "And Helga is, and he's got plans for Godric.  And you're... you're...."  There was really nothing good she could say about Basil, nor did she want to, now that she thought about it.  "Well, Helga likes you, gods only know why, she could have done a lot better and you're _really _dim, but she does, and she's got man-eating plants, so he wants to keep her happy.  I just think that right now he's got to be on his absolute best behavior or else he'll just get besieged.  He's been poking at my mother's weaknesses on purpose, and right now she'll just _know_ he's up to something whatever he does, so it's better not to actually look like he's up to something.  He's trying to make her look bad, and that'll mean playing along."

"All right," said Basil, who had merely rolled his eyes when she pointed out he was dim.  "Well, then, that's out.  I suppose they've blocked off all our sane options, so good on you for being _completely mad._"

She gave him a withering look.

"It was a compliment!"

She went back to checking the brooms and the food.

* * *

By that evening, Rowena and Basil had reached the loch, so, without stopping to rest, they had started walking along at the bottom of the loch in a giant bubble.  They had to stand together at the bottom of the air bubble.  The first few miles, they kept accidentally tripping each other.  The next few miles, they kept doing it on purpose, or at least, Basil _probably_ was doing it on purpose, and Rowena had done it right back.  Now that they were all over bruises, they kept their heads down, walked in synchronized steps, and did not speak.

They'd been walking for quite some time, although of course they had no way to tell how long, and it was getting extremely cold.  It was a long, narrow body of water, so traversing it on foot was rather like walking through a cold, muddy canyon.  They had had to climb up a hill, with some difficulty, at a place where a river fed into the loch, but Rowena had fortuitously found out that for some reason, casting heating spells on the water beneath the bubble seemed to make it slightly lighter.

Rowena hoped they would come to the end of the loch soon, though.  There were merpeople in this loch, and they didn't seem to take kindly to Rowena's and Basil's presence.  She had briefly suggested that they get help from the merpeople, but when she'd mentioned that the sirens of Greece had the power to control people with song, Basil had pointed out that it seemed a bit risky to enlist the aid of beings who might be able to hum you into drowning yourself.

Then they saw an immense shape up ahead.  It was difficult to see; Rowena only saw that the light from her wand was hitting something huge and black, and as it moved, the water currents around them made their air bubble shift and change direction.

"That's not a _boat,_ is it?" Basil whispered.

"We're much too deep," said Rowena.  "Do you think maybe the Aurae have some sort of sea monster?"

"Maybe it's like that giant kelpie in Loch Ness," said Basil.

Rowena quashed the urge to correct his pronunciation of "loch."  "Can you train kelpies?" she asked.

"I don't think so," said Basil.

Rowena sighed.  "I am _so_ sick of giant terrifying animals.  You have no idea."

Whatever it was, it started coming closer.  Rowena could see now that whatever it was, it was flexible.  And then she saw the huge eye on the side of it, and the tentacles moving behind.  It was coming towards them.

"All right," said Rowena, sighing.  "How are we going to get away from this one?  Have they got some sort of secret weakness?"

"Why are you asking me?" demanded Basil.

"Well, you're the damn Defensive Magic teacher!  And you used to hunt monsters!" said Rowena.  "If you can't fight a kraken, what good are you?"

"I don't think I ever came across any marine animals when I was a hunter," said Basil.  "Usually we leave that sort of thing to whaling crews."

"You know, that's another good question.  What's a marine animal doing in a land-locked loch?" demanded Rowena.

"Say that five times fast," Basil muttered.  The thing circled them, one great eye staring at them the whole time.

"I mean it!" she said.  "This is ridiculous!  This is..."  She searched for the right word.  "This is inconsistent!"

"Well, it's also sizing us up," said Basil.  "Any ideas?"

The great beast grabbed the bubble before Rowena could answer, and the two of them fell over as it shook the bubble, like somebody shaking a box to see what was inside.

Rowena had wanted to go for its eye, to scare it off, but now she couldn't see it.  She pushed Basil off her, grabbed her wand, and looked wildly around for some part of the squid that looked vulnerable.  The bubble was surrounded by long tentacles, and up ahead, she could see her wand's light reflecting off of a smooth black beak.

"Oh gods," said Rowena.  "Look, Poseidon, if this is about leaving you out of the Odyssey and making everything happen in a desert, I'm _really, really sorry_."

"_What are you on about?_" roared Basil.  "Hex it!"

"You hex it!  I'm praying," said Rowena.

"You don't even believe in your gods!" Basil said.  "Where the fuck's my wand?  If you're not going to use it, give me yours!"  She saw now that he was frantically feeling around the bottom of the bubble, searching for something.

"Oh for fuck's sake, I've got to do everything around here, haven't I?" Rowena said disgustedly.  She shot Stinging Hexes at the tentacles nearest her, and the monster pulled away long enough for her to see something through the gap in the tentacles.

It was the surface of the water, and sunlight.  They had walked through the night, and --

"Basil!" said Rowena.  "Is that the _castle?_  Or am I just seeing things?"

"Oh, thank God," said Basil.

Then the beast started to draw them back in, and they both moaned in exasperation.

"Can you swim?" Rowena asked.

"No!  Can you?" Basil asked.

"Well, not very well in this dress," said Rowena.  "Still, people sometimes float!"  She grabbed his arm.  "Take a deep breath."

"What are you --"

She shot another Stinging Hex at the beast, and watched as it loosened its grip on them.  Then, she pointed her wand up.  "_Finite Incantatum!_" she shouted, and the bubble burst.

* * *

Jasper hurtled down the stairs, nearly breaking his neck.  That would be just the thing, wouldn't it?  If something_ finally_ happened, and gravity killed him before he could find out what exactly it was.

The castle had not been besieged, although it felt worse than that to Jasper.  The Aurae weren't staying at the castle, though his father had offered; they apparently didn't quite trust the Slytherins.  Instead, they stayed in Hogsmeade, and made frequent visits.  Sometimes they were polite and came in through the front door; other times they were less polite and landed their thestrals, clattering, onto the top of Jasper's tower, and demanded to be allowed in.  He rather suspected it was so they could see what sort of Arithmancy he was doing, but the end result was mostly that he didn't get any Arithmancy done at all, because the Aurae were bastards.

Except that something new was going on.  There was some sort of disturbance in the lake, and it looked, from the tracking charms he'd laid down on it, that the squid was having a fight with something, and not doing very well.  After that de Malfoie incident, he'd had it imported at great expense, and someday he was hoping he would be able to see through its dish-sized eyes by magic, and make it defend the castle, but at the moment all he could do was track its movement.

Maybe an Aura had fallen into the lake by accident.  Or perhaps the merpeople had attacked the squid, and the squid had fought back.  Either way, it was probably not good news, and he wanted whatever it was to get away from his poor giant squid right the hell now.  It'd taken a whole fleet of Ximon Etxazarra's best to capture it in the first place, and then he'd had to do all _sorts_ of magic on it to keep it from exploding in the low pressure and fresh water of the lake.  The merpeople had helped with that a bit, so they should really know better than to attack it.

He came at last to the first level below the ground, where his father's potions laboratories were.  "Father?  Father!" he shouted, skidding into the room.  He managed to stop himself before he upset the cauldron his father was working over.

"Yes?" his father asked, looking up calmly from the cauldron.  "Do be careful, Jasper, I only just finished making this one."

"What does it do?" Jasper asked, peering into the cauldron.  It was full of something purple, goopy, and slightly on fire.  As they watched, it turned blue.

"Haven't really worked that out yet," said his father.  "I found it in a rather poorly-written old book and, well, I don't have anything else to do today, do I?  I mean, what with tending to our guests and all."

Right.  He didn't want to do anything suspicious in case the Aurae burst in at any moment.  Jasper shut the door.  "Right.  About that.  Do you know if anything's going on in the lake?  Have any of the Aurae fallen in?"

"I don't think so," said his father.  "Then again, do you really think they would tell _me?_"

"No, but you've got -- you've got people in the village, haven't you?" Jasper said.

"I may be able to speak to them, but they're not actually people, Jasper," said his father, gently.  "They don't usually understand human voices at all.  But they're well-trained.   They know to come back to me with news if anything seems interesting."

"You haven't got the venomous ones out, have you?" Jasper asked, uneasily.  Like his mother, he could not speak to snakes, but unlike her, having them around sometimes made him worry they would forget their training.

"No, no, of course not," said his father.  "Livius Avitus' bastard found a slow-worm the other day on the way here, and now she's convinced I'm plotting to kill them all.  I hardly think it wise to send adders after them."

"Is that what all that screaming was about?  But you can't even talk to slow-worms!" Jasper said, disgusted.  "They're not even _snakes._"  Aurae were so _stupid._

"Yes, well, Aurelia Vaurien isn't known for her herpetological knowledge, is she?  Still, it's better not to poke them with sticks.  Or with snakes, for that matter.  What makes you think something's going on in the lake?"

"The squid's not happy," said Jasper.

His father looked really concerned now.  "What's wrong with Squiddy?"

"The squid's name is not Squiddy," said Jasper, with as much patience and dignity as he could muster.  "It's fighting something."

"Well, what would you call a squid, then?" his father asked.

"I'm not _naming_ it, it's a _squid,_" said Jasper.

"Maybe you're going for something more dignified, like Neptune or Llyr.  Or Itsaso -- I mean, for a girl squid, _obviously._  Is it a girl squid?  How can you tell with squids?" his father asked.

"That's not the _point,_" sighed Jasper, who neither knew nor wanted to know the gender of his particular squid.  "Also, I'm glad Mum named me, because you'd have called me something _awful._"  He sighed.  "I hope it's got one of the Aurae, I really do," he said.  "And I hope whoever it is _drowns._"

"Perhaps you should go and see that whoever it is doesn't injure the squid," said his father, more seriously now.  "It was a very expensive squid, and if you aren't going to name it, you should at least take good care of it.  And if they drown, I very much doubt Lady Aeaeae will let you keep your new pet."

Jasper sighed.  "Yes.  Well.  All right," he said, summoning his flying carpet with an irritable wave of his wand.  He walked through the passages beneath the castle until he came out into the caves that led to the lake.  Then he unrolled the carpet, set it upon a spot of empty air, and climbed aboard, skimming over the dark surface of the water and out of the caves into the open air.  The squid was nearby, and he saw one flailing tentacle briefly surface several yards away.  The rest of the beast, however, was submerged.  It was probably the merpeople, then, although he'd asked them very politely not to attack the squid, and he _thought_ he had trained the squid not to attack them.  Jasper hoped the merpeople wouldn't take it poorly; they were sort of his mother's merpeople, and though he was not fond of them, he did not want to think about how she'd feel if he let the squid eat them up.

He watched the fight, trying to work out how to handle this.  If he hexed the squid's eye, he could probably drive it off better than the merpeople were doing now, but he didn't want the merpeople to take advantage of his poor squid and hex it while it sped away....

...wait a moment.  Merpeople didn't have _spells._  So who was sending visible jets of magic at the squid underwater?

This whole squid thing was getting to be more of a bother than it was worth, but he decided to hex his own squid and hope he could deal with its attackers on his own.  Jasper hovered low over the water and sent a few Stinging Hexes at one of the squid's giant eyes.  Spooked, it shot a cloud of ink and sped off in the other direction.

Jasper then Levitated a large chunk of inky water, hoping he got his attackers.  Inside the water, Lady Rowena was clutching a terrified-looking Basil Hufflepuff.

Hovering the water in front of him, he sped quickly back to the underground cavern that led to the castle before any of the patrolling Aurae spotted them.  When he set the two of them down on the cave floor, the water fell away, and the two of them emerged, coughing and damp and covered in ink.

"You came back underwater," he said, not sure whether to laugh or to congratulate them or to berate them for being idiots.  "And then you ran into my kraken."

"_Your _kraken?" demanded Hufflepuff, angrily.  "_Your_ kraken?  What in _God's_ name possessed you to put a bloody great octopus into the lake?"

"Oh, really, Basil, it's a _squid,_" said Lady Rowena, pulling her long braid in front of her and wringing out the water.

"Oh, _sorry_, I was more interested in getting out of the way of its beak," snapped Hufflepuff.

Rowena sighed.  "That's the _point.  _Octopodes haven't _got _beaks."

"...Isn't it 'octopi?'" Jasper asked, hesitantly.

"I don't care if it's an orange blossom," snapped Hufflepuff.  "_Why is it there?_"

"You see, Basil?  I told you it was inconsistent," said Rowena, serenely.  "Jasper, do tell us what it's doing in the lake.  I'm very curious."  She looked at Hufflepuff, who was lunging at Jasper as if he was about to hit him.  "Oh come _on,_ don't start with that again," she said, pointing her wand at the back of Hufflepuff's robes and flicking it backwards.  Jasper watched with great satisfaction as Hufflepuff staggered backwards, then overbalanced and fell back into the water with a loud splash.  "Oh.  Sorry," she said, not sounding remotely apologetic.

"Well, the last time there was a breach in the castle security, it was those Muggles," said Jasper.  "And they came by boat.  So I thought I'd set something up to fill in that hole.  I trained the squid while you were away.  I'm so sorry it attacked you, though; I certainly didn't think you'd be coming underwater.  Was that your idea?" he asked, turning to Rowena.  Seeing that Hufflepuff had made it back out of the water, he started to lead them back into the castle.

"Yes," said Rowena, sounding pleased with herself.  "I'm surprised as you are that it worked."

"Are the others coming in another bubble?" Jasper asked.

"No," said Rowena.  "I have to Summon them.  What time is it?"  She tried to wring out one of the long sleeves of her dress, with little success.

"Just a bit before midday," said Jasper.  He opened the door out of the caverns and into the castle, holding the door for Rowena and ignoring Hufflepuff.

"How much before midday?" asked Rowena.  "Only I told Helga and Godric I'd Summon the Transport Key one day at noon, and I want to get them back as soon as possible.  And then -- oh!"  She stopped suddenly.

Jasper's father was standing in the corridor, waiting for them.  "Lady Ravenclaw, welcome back," he said, his tone entirely unwelcoming.  "Before you fetch your friends, though, I think you have time enough to explain a few things to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** I feel I ought to acknowledge some of the named myth/legend characters I've been borrowing in this arc:
> 
> Koschei the Deathless and Baba Yaga are both from Russian fairytales. Koschei the Deathless fits really well into the Potterverse, and I couldn't resist including Baba Yaga, who is one of my favorites. (Although she's middle-aged rather than very old at the time of this fic, hence, Mama Yaga.)
> 
> Tom Learmont and his arithmancer Mike are references to Thomas the Rhymer and Michael Scot, two Scotsmen who actually did exist, but not remotely in this way. I'm mostly referencing the folklore associated with them, and you can look to that if you want some hints at Learmont's backstory.
> 
> Also, this is the penultimate chapter before the end of the story arc. I've been working on a fic for the Yuletide exchange rather than working on this, but I promise a long time between chapters does not mean I'm abandoning this fic, which a lot of people have worried about in the past. I do know, roughly, what will happen, and I am working on new chapters.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I will be posting for a while, but obviously it is not actually the last chapter of the fic. I don't know when I'll start posting again; I've spent the past few months writing something for Yuletide, the small fandoms fic exchange, and that will be readable on AO3 soon and elsewhere after reveals. I know roughly what will happen next, though.
> 
> I'd like to thank my beta, thinkatory, for powering through and getting all the chapters beta'd eventually.
> 
> I do love feedback, even if it's negative, so if you have something to say about this fic, please tell me, I will love you forever.

Rowena looked at Lord Salazar, and her heart sank.  His expression was very grave, although the effect was quite ruined by the large snake draped around his shoulders, which was orange, glowing, and slightly on fire.  Was it meant to be intimidating?  Rowena could not tell.  Either way, this was not going to be a fun conversation.

"Er.  I."  She cringed, her mind momentarily not working.

"Do you have _any idea_ what a mess you've made of things?" he demanded.

"No," said Rowena, in a small voice.  "Every time I turn around I realize it's more of a mess than it was, and I -- and I --"  Then she burst into tears, and Jasper put one arm around her, before recoiling.  He patted her on the shoulder awkwardly, as if he did not want to get his arm all wet, but Rowena appreciated it nonetheless.  She heard Basil make a noise of annoyance behind her back, and Jasper glared at him.

"Lady Rowena," sighed Lord Salazar, "I only meant that there had better be a _very good_ reason you decided to jettison any ability I might have to bring Stigandr Bjornsson around to my way of thinking, become an outlaw, and jeopardize not only my safety, but the safety of everyone under my protection or to whom I have the _remotest_ connection."

Rowena wiped the tears from her face before speaking, and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.  "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry,_" she said.  She knew she must look a mess -- soaked, inky, snotty, and red-faced.  "I thought that I -- I didn't even -- I --"  The snake turned a brilliant shade of teal, and she could restrain herself no more.  "Why is your snake on fire?" she asked.

"That's not the point!" said Lord Salazar.  She had never seen him angry before.  It was a little frightening, although she had expected more shouting and throwing things and death threats.  That was what her mother did, at any rate.

"It doesn't look very dignified, Father," said Jasper, who seemed to be trying to be comforting.  "And it is a bit distracting."

Rowena tried to concentrate.  "Are you going to turn me over to the Aurae?" she asked.

Lord Salazar stared at her.  "And exactly what's in that for me?" he asked.

"I suppose it wouldn't help," she muttered.  Nothing would help _this _situation.  She could see why Lord Salazar was so angry.  "Can I get the others back?  Godric and Helga, I mean.  We have an arrangement to --"

"You might as well," he said, resignedly.  "At least they have _some_ sense."  And with that he turned and stalked down the corridor.

Rowena stood still for a bit longer, wiping her eyes.  "It's all right," said Jasper, in a soothing voice.  "He's probably just grumpy because the snake got into his potion."

"I don't think that's why he's grumpy," said Basil, irritably.

_Your fault, you idiot!  This is all your fault,_ said that nasty little voice in her head that sounded like her mother.

"Will you shut up?" demanded Jasper.  "Lady Rowena still has to get the Transport Key here.  Do you want your wife back or not?"

Oh.  _Helga.  _It was nearly noon.  If she didn't hurry, she was going to fail _Helga._  "I'm going to the Great Hall," said Rowena tearfully, hurrying away.  There she could work out what time it was.  She hoped she wasn't too late.

* * *

Godric _hated_ Transport Keys, but for once he was glad to feel the horribly disorientating sensation of being hauled several miles in an instant by his intestines.  When he dared open his eyes again, he found himself in the Great Hall at the school.  He was lying on his back, looking up at Rowena, who appeared to be covered in ink.  "Afternoon," he said brightly, but she was already rushing over to help Helga up.

"Thanks for that," said Helga.  "What _happened_ to you?"

"There was a squid," said Rowena, which wasn't terribly enlightening, but maybe he'd hear the whole story eventually.

Godric picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off.  He looked up just in time to see Jasper rush into the room, followed by Basil, who was also dripping and covered in ink.

"We'd heard you were travelling with others," said Jasper, looking around.

"They left.  Other things to do," said Helga.  "Godric, did you manage to bring the trunk?"  They had consolidated all of the really important stuff, including the thought storage bowl they'd stolen from Sindri, to one trunk, and if he'd lost it after all this, he was going to be upset with himself.

Godric looked around in a panic, and saw that it was lying on its side on the floor behind him.  "Got it," he said, picking it up.  "Where's, er.  Where's Lord Slytherin?" he asked.  They were going to be in _so much trouble._

Lord Slytherin entered, carrying... a snake that was on fire.  Was that normal with snakes?  "I see you're all here," he said, coldly.

And Godric knew this was the bit where Lord Slytherin would throw them out, or something worse.  Perhaps the snake was venomous.  "Sir, Lord Slytherin, I can explain!" he blurted.

Everyone turned to stare at him.  Godric wondered why he had said something so stupid when he should have just let somebody else take the blame.

"No you can't," said Rowena at once.

"Yes, actually, I can," said Godric, who was mostly annoyed with her now.  "So, er, what happened is... is... that everything went wrong, and it's sort of my fault, so if you want to turn me in to whoever, you know -- the Aurae, I suppose, if they're here -- I understand.  I mean, I don't really want to go, but --"

"It wasn't _your fault_," said Rowena, sounding very affronted that he was taking all the credit.  "It was my fault, it was my stupid idea to steal --"

"No," said Godric, "I mean, it was your stupid idea, but I should've stopped you, and anyway it was me who wanted the thought-collection --"

"Godric, why are you being an idiot?" snapped Rowena.  "It was my fault, and she'll want me anyway, so I might as well be the one who --"

"I'm not an _idiot,_" said Godric, irritably.  He turned back to Lord Slytherin.  "Look, my only condition if you turn me over to them is that you Obliviate me first, because I already told them things I --"

Rowena interrupted him.  "See, you know too many things my mother doesn't.  This is why it makes more sense if _I_ \--"

"_Enough,_" said Lord Slytherin.  "I'm very annoyed with you at the moment, but I will not be turning either of you in," he said, looking from Rowena to Godric.   "Now, we've only heard rumors, and there's only so much my spies and snakes can tell me.  Get yourselves cleaned up and fed, be in my office in an hour, and tell me what happened.  That goes for all four of you," he said.  "Jasper, now that our fugitives are safely home, can we discuss the wards?"  Then he turned and left, and Jasper followed him.

"Why's he got a snake on fire?" Godric asked Rowena, once the Slytherins were safely out of earshot.  "I didn't know they came like that."

"I think it got at a potion and that's why it keeps changing colors," said Rowena, frowning.  "Why are you trying to take the blame?"

"Well, it was sort of my fault," said Godric.  "I mean.  If you squint."  She glared at him.  "Why are you so angry that I'm trying to do something decent?" he asked.

"Because she'll have you _killed,_" she said.  "She won't kill _me,_ I'm too valuable.  She'll just ...keep me locked up forever, or Imperius me and have me marry someone useful, or... or..."  She sighed.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds _loads_ better than death," said Godric.  "Definitely.  I'd sign right up, if I were you."

"Well, apparently he's decided to keep us," said Rowena.  "I have no idea why."  She looked over at Helga, who was laughing at Basil's imitation of some sort of monster.  "Did she say anything?" she asked.

"About ...you, or ...other things?" Godric asked.  He could not tell which subject Rowena was more afraid of, and did not dare mention either outright.

"Not about _me,_" Rowena said, going pink.  "Other things."

"Er, I -- no," lied Godric.  He was going to have to talk to Lord Slytherin about that, just in case Helga didn't keep her word.

"Wait, _did_ she say something about me?" Rowena asked.  Godric realized, guiltily, that he'd got Rowena's hopes up.

"Not... not like that," said Godric.  "I mean, you know, obviously she's... you're friends," he said.  "She was worried about you."

"Oh," said Rowena, disappointed.  "Well.  Right.  I'm going to go clean up," she sighed.

Godric watched her leave.  He looked over at Helga and Basil, who were now being... well, rather lovey-dovey, which was nice for them.  He felt horrible for both of them, but decided to just get his talk with Lord Slytherin out of the way while nobody was there to contradict him or imply that he was an idiot.

He passed Jasper in the corridor and nodded at him, although Jasper seemed worried, and did not notice Godric at all -- and when he came to Lord Slytherin's office, the door was open, so he ducked inside.  Lord Slytherin was hissing at the snake he'd had with him.  It was not on fire any longer, and seemed to be a more normal color -- well, as far as Godric knew.  He didn't know snakes.  Godric cleared his throat, because he didn't think Lord Slytherin had noticed him come in.

Lord Slytherin's startled leap would have been more entertaining if the circumstances were different, but as it was, Godric muttered an apology automatically.

Regaining his composure, Lord Slytherin fixed him with a rather cold look.  "Yes?" he asked.

"I, er.  I wanted to tell you this before anybody else got here," said Godric.  He took a shaky breath, and realized his story was going to sound like he was blaming Helga for what had happened.  "I.  It's.  I'd _really_ rather not tell you, but you need to know."

Lord Slytherin frowned at him, as if he was deciding what to do with Godric's story before he had even told it.  Finally, he said, "I would offer you a chair, but --"

"Do you mind if I transfigure one?" asked Godric, and then, a moment later, decided that this was asking too much.  "Er.  You and Jasper have been really, really good about doorways and ceiling heights, I can just stand if you'd rather not risk it, but --"

"You'll change it back," said Lord Slytherin, confidently.  "I'm not concerned.  I just don't have that sort of magic."

"Oh," said Godric.  He hadn't really thought about that.  They were wooden chairs, and wood was relatively easy to transfigure, so he'd assumed someone as experienced and, well, as _old_ as Lord Slytherin would know how to do it.  "I could show you how, if y--"

"It is the magical _power_ that I lack," said Lord Slytherin.  "I was always decent at theory.  At any rate, transfigure your chair, and tell me this horrible thing you'd rather not tell me, but that you're even more worried about letting your friends hear."

Godric fixed one of the chairs for himself, though because Lord Slytherin was watching, he got flustered and nearly set it on fire the first time.  He was certain this would all look like procrastination to Lord Slytherin, but there was really nothing Godric could do aside from apologize and feel like an utter idiot.  Once he was properly situated, he made certain he couldn't hear anybody coming down the corridor before he started to speak.  "So, er, the basics of what happened are that -- well -- Rowena and I made everything horrible, and then Helga stepped in to save us from the Aurae.  It was all a set-up; Lady Aeaeae knew we were going to do something wrong and planned ahead.  So she was in the room interrogating me when Helga came in and nearly killed her."

"You say 'nearly killed her,'" said Lord Slytherin, watching Godric intently.  "Could it reasonably have been framed as an assassination attempt?"

"I don't really see any other way it could've been intended," said Godric.  "But that's not what I need to tell you."  He sighed.  "Before she sent Lady Aeaeae hurtling to her death, Lady Aeaeae said --"  He took a deep breath, and tried to remember the scene.  "She'd said they had a deal, I think?"

Lord Slytherin blinked.  "...Ophelia did?" he asked.  "And you don't think she was lying?"

"Well, Helga said 'Well, the deal is off now,' I think.  Or something like that."  Godric frowned, trying to remember, because his memory was dreadful.  He only wished it was dreadful enough that he might say for certain he had misremembered the whole thing.  "Or 'The deal's been off for a long time, hasn't it?' or something.  She didn't say 'What deal?  You're lying,' or anything like that."

Salazar frowned.  "Do you think Mistress Hufflepuff was the one who'd told Ophelia that you were going to --"

"Oh, no, no, that was Hrafn," said Godric.  "Bastard.  But -- well, they had that conversation, and then we thought Lady Aeaeae was dead, and then we -- well, a lot of things happened.  I talked to Rowena about it, and we had a bit of a fight, because she's Rowena and if I say it, it's idiotic."  He rolled his eyes.  "And then she talked to Helga, and Helga _lied_, which is not like her at all, and I've known her for years.  She's very good at causing trouble but she usually admits to it if she's done it."  Now the story was coming more easily.  Godric wondered if all traitors felt this way.  "So I confronted her about it, later, when it was just us, waiting for Rowena and Basil, and she said that a long time ago she'd done something wrong," he said.  "And she didn't tell me what it was, but to get out of trouble she made a deal with Lady Aeaeae.  And then she couldn't really tell me anymore."

"You mean, she _wouldn't_ tell you anymore," said Lord Slytherin.

"I mean, I wasn't going to make her relive something that was obviously _horrible,_" said Godric, glaring.  "She regrets it, whatever it is, and she says she hasn't worked to repay whatever it is she owes, and she hasn't been spying or -- or anything," he finished, sounding stupid.

"Do you believe her?" Lord Slytherin asked.  He was not accusatory, merely curious.

"I do," said Godric.  "Helga's a good person.  Well.  She does bad things sometimes.  We all do."

"What do you think she did?" Lord Slytherin asked.

Godric sighed, and thought about it.  "I don't know.  Something _bad,_" he said, shaking his head.  "Something she didn't realize was going to be so bad, I think.  She gets wrapped up in her work like I do, sometimes; it's a danger of academia.  I think it was something to do with that."

"Well," said Lord Slytherin, with something approaching his usual warmth.  "Thank you for telling me this.  It's...  I won't say it's surprising.  I know that when she was --"

"I don't want to know," said Godric, immediately.

"Sorry?" Lord Slytherin asked.

"I don't want to know what she did," he said, and though he had hoped to leave it at that, his anger made him continue.  "If you know -- if this is some bloody Parselmouth spymaster politician long-game keep-your-enemies-closer bullshit -- I don't want to know what you know, or what she did, and why you think that, and -- and -- I don't _care_.  I mean, I _do_ care, but she's my friend, and if she wants to tell me, she will, and if she doesn't, I won't know, and that's _fine_.  It hurts enough to have to tell you all about it, but sometimes the responsible thing is to be a completely horrible person," said Godric.  He took a deep breath, tried to collect himself, then continued in what he hoped was a calmer tone.  "So, really, I've had my fill.  I'll be back to tell you all about everything _I_ did wrong in a bit.  Thanks for not getting rid of me," he said, bitterly.

"You're very welcome," said Lord Slytherin.  "And your lack of interest in spymaster politician bullshit is noted."

Godric could not tell if he was joking, or angry, or really much of anything, and he could not think of what to say in any case.  "Right.  Thanks," he finally said, and when he left, he wondered why he was so bad at basic things like _conversations._

* * *

The meeting went much as Helga had expected it to.  Rowena and Godric explained about Sindri's invention, the thing that held thoughts like water, and showed Lord Slytherin the bowl they'd stolen.  They talked about the bear-men, about fleeing and being captured, and then Helga told him about the tree walker and the Aurae and Hrafn's betrayal of his brother.  She told him about her father, and about trying to kill Ophelia Aeaeae.  Then she and Rowena told him about Cliodna Sheffield and getting to Wyke, and finally Basil and Rowena told them about the journey to Hogsmeade -- the nun, the elves, and the squid.

Almost nothing surprised Lord Slytherin.  He seemed to know all about Helga's father, nodded at her explanation of Aurelia Sheffield's injuries, and even gave Rowena and Basil the name of the nun they had saved.  The only things that he reacted at all to were the stolen bowl, and the land-elves, and even those seemed not to interest him especially, although his eyes did go very wide for a moment at the mention of Tom Learmont.

Then Lord Slytherin told them what had happened at the school -- how his own Aurae Cuprorum were being used to patrol the ground while Aurae Aurelii -- real proper Aurae -- scanned the skies on the backs of thestrals.  He told them about how every morning, Goronwy Grummond was using Jasper's own spells to search the grounds of the castle.  He told them about the search of the library, and the overreaction from the Aurae every time they found a snake or a lizard.

And Helga knew how this must end, but Lord Slytherin did not come to those inevitable conclusions.  Instead, he said, "And that is where we are, I believe."

"How are you going to get around the spells if they can detect who's in the castle?" Rowena demanded.

"That will all be taken care of," said Lord Slytherin placidly.

"We're going to have to return the bowl, aren't we?" Godric asked.  He ran his fingers over the runes.

"I doubt it," said Lord Slytherin.  "Without Sindri to identify the property that was stolen, Stigandr Bjornsson will have a much more difficult time getting you to return anything.  If he asks, I suggest you give it back to him, but I don't think he will.  He may be mad, but he isn't stupid.  And I would very much like to see how it works.  Wouldn't you?"

Godric looked down at the bowl, frowning.  "That was the general idea, yes."

"My mum's going to be _angry_," said Rowena.  "What are you going to do to placate her?"

"There is very little that she can ask for," said Lord Slytherin.  "But what she does ask for, I will have to give her."

"She's going to want the bowl back, then," said Rowena.  "And me.  And Godric.  I don't understand," she said.  "You said you would --"

"She may _want _that, but she would never ask for it outright.  How do you think that would play to the Council?" asked Lord Slytherin.  "She throws a tantrum over a piece of tableware that was never hers to begin with, but belonged to her half-mad ally, and the ulterior motive seems to be to get her wayward heir back and kill some Transfigurator who hardly anybody has heard of?  The very fact that you've allied yourself with me is something she doesn't want to draw attention to; if she'd managed to capture you before you got here, she could make it look like you'd come to your senses, but now, she'd have to use the theft as an excuse, and as I've explained, it wasn't even a crime against _her._"

"So what will she want?" Rowena asked.

"She hasn't asked me yet," said Lord Slytherin, calmly.  "I'm not a Seer, you know."

There were many ways to lie, Helga reflected.  Lord Slytherin was very good at most of them.  She watched the rest of the conversation as if from the other end of a very long corridor.  Rowena asked questions, and the answers reassured her that she would not find herself in her mother's grasp come morning.  Godric seemed melancholy and furtive.  And Basil, who she watched most intently, seemed almost to realize what Helga knew.  But he had not quite got there.  That reassured her.

The conversation slowed, and then, one by one, the others left.  Godric went first, carrying his stolen property, and Rowena left soon afterward, after trying to start a conversation with Helga, who only noticed after a too-sharp "Well, I'll see you at supper, then."  Finally, Basil stood, and took her hand.  "Are we going?" he asked.

"I actually need to talk to Lord Slytherin about the ingredients for next year's Potions," said Helga.

"Yes," said Lord Slytherin, who was looking at her serenely now.  "Very important.  I'd very much like to have some mandrakes this winter, but that will take some doing."

Basil did not quite believe this, she could tell, but he smiled and left all the same.  And then Helga and Lord Slytherin were alone in the silence.

Helga considered carefully before she spoke.  "She's going to ask for me," she said.  "Isn't she?"

Lord Slytherin looked at her, although he could not tell if he was impressed.  "Jasper managed to trick the wards, but that can only last for so long.  The spells the Aurae have set will tell them you're here tomorrow at midday.  You have until then.  You did try to kill her, you know," he added.

"I did," sighed Helga.  She frowned, considering the past.  There was a horrible hole in her memories.  She could recall no events, no facts, no faces -- only a cold rage, the desire to _kill everyone_, and then a nauseating, terrible fear.  The next thing she knew, she was running towards a church with Leo and there were angry, shouting people behind them.  They had got to the church and claimed sanctuary, and Helga had found God, and about a month later, Lady Aeaeae had found Helga.  Confession, she decided, was good for the soul.  "Lord Slytherin," she said, "when I was young and stupid, I made a deal with Lady Aeaeae."

"Tell me about it," said Lord Slytherin.

He didn't seem upset or surprised at this, either.  Helga wondered if he'd always known.  Helga wondered if he knew what she had done, if he could confirm her suspicions, but she dared not ask, because he might just do so.  "I think I hurt a lot of people," she said.  This was the understatement of the century.  "And without her interference, I would probably be dead.  She said I would owe her.  There wasn't an Unbreakable Vow, and I haven't done anything for her since that I'd be ashamed of," added Helga.  "Except lying about it to everyone.  But -- but it's something I did, and I'm worried about what she'll make me do.  She won't kill me."

"No, I suspect she won't," said Lord Slytherin.  "What exactly did you do?" he asked.  "When you hurt these people, I mean?"

She sighed.  "I don't _remember._  I told Lady Aeaeae I did, though -- well, I left out the part where I'd been Obliviated."

"You were Obliviated?  Who did that?" Lord Slytherin asked, suddenly more alert.

"My brother Leo -- he says I asked him to," said Helga.

"So he would know what happened," said Lord Slytherin.

"But not how I did it," said Helga.

Lord Slytherin frowned.  "Tell me, these people that you hurt... do you know how many there were?"

Helga swallowed the lump in her throat.  "I... I really don't know --"

"A reasonable chunk of a city, perhaps?" Lord Slytherin asked.

She froze.  She could not make herself speak.  He _knew._

"I see," said Lord Slytherin.  "Well.  I had suspected --"

"Everyone was supposed to forget!" Helga said.

"Well, technically everyone was supposed to blame the elves," said Lord Slytherin.  "But some of us are much cleverer than Ophelia Aeaeae gives us credit for.  It's a pity you went and tried to assassinate her; you would be _wonderful_ blackmail material, and if you could reproduce the circumstances of --"

"_Never,_" growled Helga.  She would die first.  Well, she would die second -- anyone who made her do _that_ again would die first, and slowly, and painfully.

"Forget I said anything, then," said Lord Slytherin.  "You understand, though, that I'll have to give you to her, though, don't you?"

She nodded.  "I'm not worth a siege."

"Oh, you are," said Lord Slytherin.  "You're worth a hundred, in sheer military usefulness.  But you're much too dangerous.  You see," he said, "as soon as she works out that _I've_ worked your little secret out, she can present it to the world that _I'm_ harboring the threat, and you become wonderful blackmail material against _me._"

"So you'll let her, then?" Helga asked.  "You'll let her take me and make me take reasonable chunks out of cities?"

"The question is not whether I will," said Lord Slytherin.  He looked very sad now.  "Will _you_ let her?  You may die if you don't.  Or you may lose yourself entirely.  I don't know.  I know that's no comfort now, though.  You must love your friends very much to have chosen this, although whether it will redeem you or damn you, I don't yet know."  He sighed.  "I've made many terrible mistakes, Mistress Hufflepuff.  So many.  But sometimes the right choice is also terrible, and I cannot tell you what that choice will be when you make it."

Helga did not want to think about this.  "Thank you, Lord Slytherin," she said, standing and giving him a curtsey.  "I -- I'd like to spend today with the people I love.  You understand.  You must, or you and Jasper wouldn't have --"

"I understand," he said.  "Go ahead.  And don't worry about the mandrakes," he said.  "I won't be needing them until next April."

* * *

Godric could not sleep, so he was in his office, staring at the bowl they'd stolen from Sindri.  He didn't understand the runes around the edges on his own, but he was looking them up in a book he'd bought in Bergen the day before they'd gone to Bjornarbitholm.  He was amazed at how new the book still looked, and how much he'd gone through since he'd bought it.  He felt like it'd been two years since his office, and here he was, back home, everything normal again, everyone safe.  There would be papers to mark soon.

It should have reassured him, everything going back to normal, but it didn't.  Their escape had been so narrow.  What if something had gone wrong?

There was a knock at the door.  "Come in," he said, looking up.

Helga shut the door behind her, carefully.  "Godric, I --"

"Are you angry at me?" Godric asked.  "Because I told him?"

Helga frowned.  "No.  I didn't know you told him," she said.  "Although it explains why he wasn't especially surprised when _I_ did."

"Did you tell him what you'd done?" Godric asked.

She sighed.  "He worked it out on his own."

_What was it?_ he wanted to ask, but Helga was tired and sad.  Instead, he said, "What did he say?"

She did not answer immediately.  Instead, she walked up to his desk, and looked up at her father's thought-collection bowl.  "Can I see that?" she asked, pointing at it.

He handed it to her.  She turned it over in her hands.  "My father never gave me anything, you know," said Helga.  "I don't even know his surname.  Or -- well, his patronymic, I suppose.  But I was never Helga Sindrisdottir."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Godric asked.

"I suppose," she said.  "You know, I tried to talk to Basil about this, but he didn't understand.  He never knew his father," she explained.  "But he never had to wonder why his father left, either.  So he didn't really get it.  And Rowena -- well, she has her own problems."

"The two of us promised each other we'd kick his arse for you once we were out of trouble," said Godric.  "Sorry it didn't happen."

"It's all right," said Helga.  "He's out of my life now, where he belongs."  She sighed, leaned her back against his desk, and looked up at him, craning her neck.  "Did your dad leave?  You never really talked about him.  I mean, when we were kids.  You talked about your brother a lot."

"My dad was there," said Godric, shrugging.  "He just wasn't really... interested in anything, not after Mum died.  He worked and slept, and sometimes he ate, and on Sundays Geoff and I got him to church.  We didn't starve, and that's the important thing, I suppose."

"When did your mum die?" Helga asked.

"When I was six," said Godric.  "She got pregnant, but she was too old to be having another child, and it's dangerous at the best of times."

"So it was just you and your brother?" Helga asked.

"And Dad," said Godric, because he did _count_, even if he wasn't really all there.

"Well," said Helga, as if she might argue the point.  She sighed.  "Look, I'm not here to talk about families.  Well.  Sort of.  Lord Slytherin said he'd give Lady Aeaeae whatever she asked for.  I'm what she's going to ask for.  I need your help, Godric."

Godric sat up, surprised.  "Have you got an escape plan?  Tell me what it is!  Wouldn't Rowena be more useful?"

She smiled sadly.  "No, Godric, it's not an escape plan.  I need you to take care of Rowena and Basil.  And you mustn't tell them about this, at least, not until I'm gone.  I've got 'til midday tomorrow -- that's when the Aurae will know we're back -- and I'm going without a fight."

"What?" Godric asked.  "You can't!"

"When I'm gone," she said, ignoring his outburst, "well.  I don't want things to fall apart.  Basil will be... upset.  I don't know how much you can do for him -- how much anyone can do for him, really -- but when he was bitten, he decided he was going to go off and live as a hermit and never talk to any human being again.  I talked him out of it, but it's entirely possible he'll backslide.  I mean, he did show up in Wyke ridiculously early, and I think it's Jasper's fault.  I love Basil," she said, "and he'd never be happy alone, and I don't want to think of him hiding away like that.  I know you're not close or anything, but he thinks you're all right, and -- and frankly, I don't want him staying here just to spite Jasper.  That's a terrible career goal."

Godric nodded.  "I'll do what I can."

"Now, with Rowena, you might have better luck," said Helga.  "She'll be very upset -- I mean, she'll be more willing to show it than Basil, so it might be easier to deal with, because at least she'll admit it to herself.  And she likes you a lot," she said.

"...Sorry, are we talking about the same person?" Godric asked.

"She _does_ like you," said Helga.  "Trust me on this.  Don't tell her I said so, though, that wouldn't go well at all."  She rolled her eyes.  "Anyway, she might be a bit -- well, she might just work and sleep and eat sometimes, like you said your dad did.  I think she thinks she needs me.  Anyway, really the only thing about me that she _needs_ is a good dose of common sense, so if you could keep her out of trouble until she learns that for herself --"

"Oh, you'll be back long before _that _happens," said Godric.

Helga frowned.  She didn't say anything.

"You are coming back, right?" Godric said.  "Lord Slytherin's got a plan.  Or you have.  Or somebody has.  Right?"

"There's no plan," said Helga.  "She probably won't kill me, if that's what you're worried about."

"Well, that's Item One on the list, but..."  Godric trailed off.  "You're going _forever?_"

"Probably," said Helga.  "And look, here's the thing -- both of them, Basil and Rowena, they'll have terrible, stupid schemes to get me out.  Don't let them do that," she said.  "They're throwing their lives away."

"But we can't just leave you in prison!" said Godric.

She smiled again.  "This is the part I knew you'd have trouble with, Godric.  You think you're a coward, but whenever something's gone wrong and somebody might get hurt, there you are, trying to help.  Help Basil and Rowena.  Help _them_ move on.  I can take care of myself.  Promise?"

Godric frowned.  "Look, if there's a way to get you out without anybody else getting captured--"

"I doubt if there is," said Helga.  "If you really want this to be over, work towards getting on the Council.  If Lord Slytherin's the Chief, he can release me.  Or my sentence can be commuted to --" she smirked "-- life teaching Herbology in the Scottish Highlands."

"Sounds dreadful," said Godric.  "Have you _seen_ that place?  They've got werewolves and giant squids and vicious attack trees everywhere.  And the _students!_"

Helga laughed.  "Promise you'll take care of them?"  She extended her hand.

"Oh, all right," said Godric.  Instead of shaking her hand, he picked her up and hugged her.  "You be careful, though, even if you're not coming back," he admonished.

"Oof, Godric, I need those ribs to breathe," she said, but when he put her down, she was smiling sadly up at him.  "I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best."

* * *

The next morning was quiet and bright and cheerful for Rowena.  She finally felt well-rested, and at some point Helga had come into the library and asked to see one of Rowena's very own poems.  She had inexplicably liked it.  Rowena wondered if perhaps she was lying, but she was not about to turn down flattery.  They'd talked for a long time after that -- it'd been a long, drifting, oddly warm conversation, and Rowena had hoped, painfully, that all the things Helga said to her meant _I love you_.  And they did, she supposed, just... not in the way Rowena wanted to be loved.

But then the Aurae came.  They arrived at midday, just after they had finished eating.  There were three of them -- Goronwy Grummond, Jan Perkinson, and Alfhild.  They just walked up to the High Table as if it was not rude to barge in, as if Lord Salazar had simply left the door open, as if walking slowly into a hall with wands drawn cautiously was normal.  Rowena wondered what Lord Salazar was going to tell them, to send them away empty-handed, and she smiled at Alfhild, who looked bleakly back at her.

"Salazar Slytherin," said Grummond, "are you the lord of this castle and all its inhabitants?"

"I am," said Lord Salazar, as if this was not a stupid question.

"You appear to be harboring a fugitive," said Grummond.  "A traitor to the peace of the Council, the would-be assassin of Lady Ophelia Aeaeae.  Are you aware of this?"

Rowena lost her appetite.  She was a self-centered, horrible person, and she had been so relieved to have escaped, and to have got everyone safely back to the castle, that she hadn't considered the worst that could happen.  She looked at Helga, to see if she had a plan -- Helga always had a plan -- but her eyes were downcast.  Maybe she had some spectacular planty solution to this mess hidden under the table?

"Aurelius," said Lord Salazar, "I am aware of the guilty party's presence at my table, and I thank you for coming to my aid.  I didn't dare report her to you; I was afraid she might act out."

It was like they were reading off of cards.  Rowena couldn't stand it anymore.  "You're turning her over?" she demanded.

"Yes, Lady Ravenclaw, I am," said Lord Salazar, and his tone told her to sit down and shut up.

"Helga Hufflepuff, if you could please come with us," said Alfhild, softly.

"Of course," said Helga, getting out of her seat.

Basil grabbed her arm.  "Helga, you _can't _\-- you -- they -- I'll fight them --"

"Good," said Grummond.  "You might win.  Always want a werewolf watching my back, don't you, Jan?"

Perkinson shot Grummond a disapproving look.  "A fight would not end well for you, even if you won.  It's not advisable," he told Basil.

She had to do something, so she stood up.  "Look, you can't do this," she said to the Aurae.  "You _can't._"

"Yes, actually, we can," said Grummond.  "Your friend here tried to kill your mother, or does that not bother you?"

"_Fuck _my mother," snarled Rowena.  She walked in front of Helga to protect her.  "Helga's my best friend.  I'd die for her."  She pointed her wand at Grummond.  "I could take you in a fight, Grummond.  And wouldn't that be brilliantly embarrassing to her?  The Chief's own heir winning against an Aura and choosing death instead of service!  Oh, she'd be so angry she could kill me.  And the beauty of it is that she _could!_"

"Rowena, don't," said Helga, in a soft voice.  She put her hand on Rowena's arm.  "I knew this would happen."

"Rowena," said Alfhild.  "I'm sorry.  If it makes you feel any better --"

"Why the fuck do I care if it makes _me_ feel any better if you're _arresting Helga?_" demanded Rowena.

"Rowena," said Helga.  "This is my choice.  You're not going to die for me," she added, laughing a little.  Rowena saw that there were tears on her cheeks.  "That would just be... stupid."

"But I _love_ you!" Rowena blurted out.

"I know," said Helga, and for about half a second, even in this horrible situation, Rowena had stupidly high hopes.  Then Helga continued.  "Like you said, we're best friends and you'd die for me.  But I'd die for you too, and I know they're not going to kill me," she said.  As if this was any comfort.  Then Helga hugged her.

"But -- but I --" Rowena managed.  Over Helga's shoulder, she saw Alfhild raise one eyebrow, and felt herself go scarlet.

"Try not to get into too much trouble," said Helga.

"But --" Rowena started again.

"Grummond, I'd like you to know something," said Godric, getting up and looming over everyone else.  Grummond did look terrified, which was somewhat satisfying, if comical.  "If you lot hurt Helga, I will have a very serious problem with you, and so will the rest of us.  Is that entirely clear?"

"You don't scare me, Gryffindor," said Grummond, although evidence suggested otherwise, as he was hiding behind Alfhild.

"She'll be... she's very valuable," Alfhild said.  "She'll live."

"Good," said Godric.  He held out his hand, and Helga shook it.  "Try not to throw any kids off of buildings, all right?  It's just not _nice._"

Helga laughed weakly.  "Last time I did that, _somebody_ turned me into a badger."

"And rightly so," said Godric.  "Come on, Rowena," he said, in a lower voice.  "I think we should let her say goodbye to Basil."  He took Rowena by the arm to lead her back to the table, and she couldn't quite make herself shake him off.

"You planned this, didn't you?" Basil asked, stepping forward.  He had tears in his eyes, Rowena saw.  She'd never seen Basil cry before, and she realized, with a slight shock, that Basil loved Helga as much as she did.

"I'm sorry," said Helga.  "Forgive me?"

"I don't know if I can," he said.  "We could have -- we could've _done _something."

"No, I don't think we could have," sighed Helga.  "This was waiting for me for a long time."

Basil sighed.  "Be careful," he said.  He kissed her, and Rowena hated everyone in the world, even Helga.

"Come on," said Alfhild.  "Can I have your wand?"

Helga handed Alfhild her wand.  They bound her wrists behind her back and walked her out of the Great Hall, and then she was gone.

Rowena wanted to grab her wand and fight them all, but Helga had told her not to, and -- and Helga had known this was all going to happen.  And so had Lord Salazar.  Rowena turned on him.  "You knew!" she shouted.  "You said you were going to have to --"

"Yes," said Lord Salazar.  "I'm sorry.  I talked to Mistress Hufflepuff about it yesterday."

"You talked her into it?" demanded Rowena.  "You _bastard._"

"It was the only way," said Lord Salazar.  "She expected it too."

"She did," said Basil, sounding horrified.  "She knew the whole time.  She knew even in Wyke, I think.  I was -- I couldn't think about..."  He trailed off.  "Maybe if the two of _you_ had thought your plans out a little bit," he said, seething, "this wouldn't have happened."

"I'm sorry," said Godric.  He sounded like he meant it.

"Yeah, well," said Basil, who was not placated.

"It was my fault," snapped Rowena.  "You leave Godric alone."

"That isn't the _point,_" said Godric.  "Is there any way we can get her back?  Haven't you got a plan?"

"Not at the moment," said Lord Salazar.  "I wish I had a better answer."

Rowena looked from face to face.  There was Basil, glaring daggers at her and at Godric.  And there was Godric, wrapped up in his own guilt for some reason -- perhaps because he'd doubted that Helga was good in the end?  That must be it.  He looked at her briefly, but she glowered at him, and he looked away.  Lord Salazar looked tired and mournful.  And Helga's empty seat -- Rowena broke down in embarrassingly loud, awful sobs.

Only Jasper seemed to notice her.  He reached out and patted her hand.  "I'm sorry, Lady Rowena."

But she pushed him away and left, crying.  She couldn't bear anyone comforting her just now, because in the end, the only person she could blame was herself.


End file.
